Salvation
by butnotquite
Summary: Camelot has existed in many ways throughout the ages. Queen Guinevere, King Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana live in the 21st century, and they remember all their past lives. But this time, it is the Queen who holds the power. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: **__Hi! Here's a new story I've been working on. Modern AU again, but this time with a reincarnation twist. Queen Guinevere, King Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana live in the 21__st__ century, and they remember all their past lives. Please let me know what you think—BNQ. _

**-1-**

She sat in the nearly-empty coffee shop, cradling a rather oversized cup in her hands, her delicate fingers unable to span the width of it. The cup was a creamy ivory, a direct contrast to her own tawny complexion.

She blew on the surface of the steaming liquid in an attempt to cool it down so that she could sip it without scalding her lips. She liked her tea slightly warm, but realized early on that to ask it to be served as such was sacrilege. She has been a frequent enough visitor of this establishment to know that it's owners and patrons took their beverages very seriously_—_something which she found silly at first, but changed her mind once she tasted their brews.

She checked her watch again. Five minutes to go until her companions arrived. She smiled wryly. Companion was too friendly a word to describe the people she was waiting for, but she supposed it would do as it was not in her nature to be cruel. They had been friends in the past, and she still remembers more innocent times that were full of laughter, and carefree days spent in each other's company. But too much has happened and she has endured too much to think of them_—_of them all_—_as anything more than nightmare creatures.

She tucked a long lock of dark hair behind her ear. An innocent gesture, but one that didn't go unnoticed by the only other occupant of the shop.

The young college student had abandoned his readings as soon as she had walked through the door. Like her, he frequented this place-it was quiet, served inexpensive fare, and it was never with people who spoke too loudly. He had watched this woman since he started coming here a few weeks ago. Each time she had been alone with only a book to keep her company; she'd read for an hour-no longer-while nursing her tea.

He knew she was older than his 19 years, but not by much. He would often try to muster the courage to get up and talk to her, but he never found himself to be brave enough. There was something about this woman; something that made you look, made you wonder, made you wish, made you imagine, but also something that told you that if your intentions were less than noble, then you should keep away.

The young man sighed. She carried herself like a queen and he was still too gawky to do more than simply admire. He put the buds of his music player back in his ears and turned back to the forgotten papers that littered the tiny table in front of him.

The woman in question looked up to see two people walk through the door. The man was tall, pale, a little gangly, but with intelligent eyes and a ready smile. The woman beside him was beautiful in a way that can only be described as ethereal. She had porcelain skin, deep red lips (which she knew was without any cosmetic enhancements), and green eyes that looked much too old for her young face. She, too, was smiling.

There was a time when she would have been overjoyed at seeing them. She would have bounded from her chair and enveloped them both in a hug, but those times were gone, and whatever affection she held for them left with the ages, never to come back.

She caught their eye and at once, humor fled their features as they made their way to her table. There was no smile to greet them, and no thawing of her expression. As soon as they were settled in their seats, she sat up a little straighter, lifted her chin ever so slightly, and primly folded her hands in her lap. Her movements were deliberate, and the implications were not lost on the couple who now shared her table.

"Your Majesty," the man greeted her. His voice was quiet, obeisance in his every gesture.

"Queen Guinevere," the woman ducked her head, her bow taking the place of the deep curtsey that she would have wanted to give instead.

The woman with tawny skin lowered her eyes for the barest of moments, her head giving the slightest of bows.

"Morgana, Merlin," she greeted them. "To what do I owe this visit?"


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: _**_Here's chapter two :) Don't worry, things will unfold in due time. An Arwen scene has already been written up, but I'm having three different people look at upcoming chapters to make sure I don't miss anything vital. Thank you to everyone who has commented and added this story to their alert list, I truly appreciate it. Please let me know what you think of this installment.—BNQ_

**-2-**

Guinevere observed as Morgana and Merlin-the two greatest magical beings the world has ever known-exchange worried glances. She found herself not particularly concerned about this exchange. Guinevere knew that she would be driven insane if she were to analyze every thought and gesture that passed between the witch and warlock.

Several moments passed before her question was answered. Guinevere's posture never once wavered, not allowing either Morgana or Merlin the opportunity to see any observable weakness. Time and too many betrayals have forged her in steel, and she was not anyone's to command anymore.

"Your Majesty," Merlin began. "We thank you for granting us an audience."

Guinevere didn't bother to correct the warlock's address of her, but instead gave another nod.

"We have come hoping you will award our request," Merlin's voice wavered, as if he was hesitant to speak.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow and, for the first time, the shadow of a smile flitted across her features.

"What makes you think that I will listen to this request, much less agree to it?"

Her tone made it clear that while she may have looked amused, she found no humor in this conversation.

"Please, Guinevere," Morgana moved to splay her hands palms up on the table. "You are the only one who can save us."

Guinevere looked at Morgana. "_Was she paler than usual?_ "

She saw that the witch was now biting her lower lip, worry etched on every line of her body. She was impeccably dressed in expensive, richly-hued clothes that fit her frame perfectly, but even that was not enough to disguise the panic that seemed to emanate from her slim frame.

"You are in no position to ask anything of me, Morgana," Guinevere's tone was even, her voice calm, but there was no mistaking the blade of her words. "And your damnation is not something I worry about."

The witch flinched, her eyes pleading with the woman who had served her faithfully once upon a time, but she knew that there was no friendship between them anymore. Morgana's acts against Guinevere had exhausted whatever affection the Queen had once shown toward her. Never had Morgana felt so alone.

"Guinevere, please," it was Merlin's turn to beg. "Camelot will fall."

"Camelot has fallen many times," Guinevere answered calmly. "Over the ages, in various forms. Why should I care if it falls again?"

"Because this time," Merlin sighed deeply. "This time will be the last."

"That is not of any consequence to me," Guinevere shrugged. She unfolded her hands from her lap and raised one to call the attention of a young server.

She remained silent until after she had paid her bill, saying only thank you to the young woman who took the money and cleared the table. Guinevere saw her trying to sneak glances at each of them, but whether it was her posture or the current of magic that passed through witch and warlock that made her leave quickly, she did not care.

"Albion," Morgana whispered the word.

Guinevere's head snapped around to her.

Seeing that she had her regent's attention, Morgana sat up and squared her shoulders. She looked Guinevere in the eye.

"Albion's destruction will come after the fall."

No emotion was seen on Guinevere's face. She sat quietly, her gaze moving from man to woman.

"We will speak again," she said.

She stood up, collecting the small leather handbag that she had kept on a chair beside her.

Merlin and Morgana followed suit, standing at attention until Guinevere had walked out of the shop with nary a glance back at them. Only when she was out of sight did they take their seats again.

The young man who sat across the room watched all of this with great fascination. He still had the buds in his ears so he was deaf to the conversation, but he could feel the tension in the air.

He watched as the tall man and the pale woman huddled together, worry plain on their faces. He saw as the woman's lips formed one word.

Doom.


	3. Chapter 3

**_AN: _**_Chapter three is pretty short, unfortunately. And I know that you have been waiting for Arthur and a scene between him and Guinevere. It will come sooner than you think.—BNQ_

**-3-**

"She will not help us," Morgana was on the verge of tears. "She will see us burn."

The word did not bring out the best of memories for both of them.

"I did the same once," Merlin whispered. "I stood by and watched her pyre."

He buried his face in his hands. He had done many great things through the ages, and to this age, his name was still synonymous with all things good and just and fair. But Merlin knew that was not enough. He had failed the one person who mattered the most, and now he would pay the price.

"I do not blame her," Morgana said. "What we ask is impossible."

She started to wring her pale hands. Helplessness was something Morgana was not used to; it often brought out the worst in her.

"We ask too much of her, Merlin," she regarded the warlock beside her. "She will not yield."

"Because she will be the only one to survive this," Merlin said the one thing both of them refused to acknowlege before. "The Queen will survive this purge."

"And we will burn," Morgana whispered as tears fell from her eyes.

Morgana closed her eyes and willed herself to be calm. Almost immediately, her mind traveled to places she cared not to visit any more. Once again, she felt the wrath, the envy, the hate bubble up inside her and Morgana saw how she had foisted them onto a woman who did not deserve it. Her mind made her remember every lie, every falsehood, every weapon she had used to bring down the only person who had ever been faithful to her.

It was with great effort that she pulled herself back from the past. She looked down and saw that one of her small hands was enveloped by Merlin's. He gave it a small squeeze before letting go.

"Don't," he cautioned her. "Don't do it Morgana or it will swallow you whole."

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with shaking fingers. Then she looked down at her watch.

"We have to go," she said as she stood up. "Arthur will be waiting for us."

Merlin smiled. However helpless the situation may be with the Queen, they were at least partly salvaged by the relationship they had with Arthur.

"Does he remember yet?" Merlin asked Morgana.

"No," she shook her head. "I've dropped cues, set the spells, and settled the charms in his office, but it will take time."

"I trust you," Merlin said as he looked Morgana in the eye.

"There was a time when you didn't," she whispered.

"And look how we are suffering for it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in regret.

"We have time," Morgana said as she grasped his hand.

Merlin looked at the woman before him and shook his head.

"We don't. We only have this lifetime left."


	4. Chapter 4

**-4-**

Morgana gave Merlin's hand one last squeeze as they exited the private elevator that led to Arthur Pendragon's office. They had left shortly after the Queen, taking the black town car that had been a perk from the man for whom they worked.

It was a short drive to the steel and glass building that was the Pendragon headquarters, and it was traveled without a word said between the two of them. It was only when they were about to enter Arthur's office that Morgana spoke.

"This is always the hardest part for me," she said before schooling her features into the cool and detached expression that had become her trademark.

"It's different now, Morgana," Merlin straightened his tie. "As far as Arthur's concerned we're completely harmless."

They exchanged another glance and Merlin raised his hand to knock at the door. Three raps, a pause, and then a voice bid them to enter.

Both witch and warlock squared their shoulders as Merlin opened the door, motioning for Morgana to go before him.

Arthur Pendragon stood behind an expansive desk. His coat was off and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up his arms. One hand was shoved inside a trouser pocket, and the other was flipping through papers that were scattered on his desk.

Arthur looked up and saw that they were now standing in front of his desk.

"Right on time," he said after looking at the watch on his wrist. "It's almost magic how you two arrive on the dot every time."

"We do as we're told," Merlin said, his hands clasped in front of him.

Morgana glanced at the man beside her. She knew that his magic bubbled to the surface every time he was near Arthur or Guinevere. She was the same, it was how they found the King and Queen through the ages.

"That you do," Arthur said, a slight smile on his lips as he rubbed his jaw with one hand. "So, tell me. Have you secured the permits?"

"All but one," Morgana reached into her pocket and took out a business card. "Leodegrance refuses to sell."

Arthur took the card and looked at it with cool disdain.

"Thomas Leodegrance," he said slowly. "He owns that small repair shop, doesn't he?"

Merlin nodded. "We've spoken to him and his daughter. They're not budging."

"I'll take care of this," Arthur pocketed the card and turned his attention again to the pair still standing before him. "How are things?"

Morgana and Merlin exchanged a glance.

"What do you mean, Mr. Pendragon?" Morgana's voice was calm and even.

As far as Arthur knew, they were lawyers employed by Pendragon, Inc. They were the best damned lawyers in the legal department, and naturally, worked closest with the boss.

"You two haven't taken a day off since you started working for me, what? Three years ago?" Arthur said. "You arrive at eight-thirty in the morning every day, take your breaks on the dot, and leave at six in the evening."

He raised an eyebrow at them.

"You arrive together, take your breaks together, and leave together," Arthur's hands were now on his hips. "Are you two married?"

The ghost of a smile bowed Morgana's lips. She and Merlin knew this would eventually come up and they had prepared for it.

"Morgana and I are practically siblings, Mr. Pendragon," Merlin answered smoothly. "My grandfather was her godfather and he took care of both of us after our parents died."

"My apologies," Arthur was taken aback. "I did not know that."

"It's not something one brings up with one's employees, sir," Morgana said.

"And that," Arthur pointed at Morgana. "Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what, sir?"

"Why the 'sir' and why so formal?"

"Does it bother you, Mr. Pendragon?"

"No, not really. It's just," Arthur searched for the right word. "It's unusual, that's all."

He then ran a hand through his hair, and suddenly pressed his fingers to his temples. His eyes shut tightly.

"Is anything wrong Mr. Pendragon?" Merlin asked cautiously. Could it be?

"No," Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes still closed tight. "I just haven't been sleeping well and I've been getting these headaches because of it."

Morgana walked over to one of the carved oak side tables in the office and withdrew a small pill case from one of the drawers. She shook out a tablet still inside a blister pack, then poured water from a glass decanter into a crystal tumbler. She walked over to Arthur and handed these to him.

"Take this," she pressed the pill and the glass of water to the man who was in obvious pain.

"Thanks," Arthur swallowed the medicine with a swig of water. "You didn't have to do that, Ms. Fay."

"It was no bother," Morgana's voice was calm, not betraying the glee that was bubbling up inside her. It was starting to work!

Arthur looked at his watch again.

"I want to meet Thomas Leodegrance tomorrow," he said. His voice strong and forceful once again. "The sooner this is sorted out, the better off we'll all be."

"It's Saturday tomorrow, Mr. Pendragon," Merlin reminded him.

"Which means that I will not be bothered by anything or anyone else," Arthur's eyes bored into Merlin, daring him to say any more.

"Of course, Mr. Pendragon," Merlin gave the slightest of bows. He remembered how mercurial Arthur's temper can be, just one of the many things about the King that didn't change over the ages.

"Tell Geoffrey to set it for 10 in the morning," Arthur said, referring to his personal assistant. "Remind him to phrase it so that Mr. Leodegrance will expect me at his shop at that time."

"Very well, Mr. Pendragon," Merlin said. "Anything else?"

"Take the rest of the day off," he told both lawyers. "I'm about to go home as well. This headache is getting worse."

With a wave of his hand that indicated that they had been dismissed, Merlin and Morgana made their way out of the office. They kept quiet until they were inside the elevator.

"The charms are working," Merlin said to Morgana.

Morgana nodded. "We can expect him to start having the visions soon."

Merlin was quiet for a moment.

"He will not be happy when he remembers," he said to his companion.

"Arthur will be easy enough to deal with," Morgana's voice was confident. "It was his promise that brought him here."

Merlin didn't argue with that.

"It is the Queen all of us should be afraid of," Morgana said quietly. "She will not be happy to see him so soon, and with having no idea about who she is."

"We have no choice," Merlin said sadly. "We only have..."

"This lifetime. I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**-5-**

It was a short walk from the coffee shop to the park where Guinevere was now sitting. She had been on the bench for what must have been an hour, but neither seeing nor hearing what was going on around her.

She had agreed to meet Merlin and Morgana after being bothered by them for days. They said it was of "great importance," and while she cared little about what was urgent to them, she was curious about what this matter was.

Guinevere lifted her face to the sky and let the late afternoon sunlight warm her skin. Then let her mind carefully wander back to a few years before.

She had been having strange dreams for the longest time. Dreams that didn't always make sense, but there were three people that were always present. There was a tall, pale man with eyes that flashed gold, a woman with raven hair and green eyes that turned into molten copper whenever she looked at her, and a very, very handsome man with golden hair and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen.

In the dreams she was a princess, a warrior, a maiden, or a servant. She saw herself carrying a sword, brandishing a bow, holding court over a room full of nobles, or holding hands with the blonde man. She would smell lavender and green fields and metal. She would feel warm and safe and so very, very loved in the golden-haired man's embrace.

But as the months went by, her once pleasant dreams turned into nightmares.

She began to dream of castles burning, of death and blood, and of so much pain. She would dream of children dying in her arms, of being taken against her will, of being abandoned, and of being imprisoned. In the most horrible nightmares, she dreamt of being tied to a stake and being burned alive. Guinevere would wake up from these nightmares with a scream still about to burst from her throat and she would run into the bathroom and scramble to turn on the shower, amazed that her skin was not blistered and charred from the pyre.

It was right about this time that she began to notice a tall, pale man and a raven-haired woman following her as she walked around town.

Guinevere remembered the first time they sat down at her table in the coffee shop and introduced themselves to her. Merlin and Morgana. Old-fashioned names that struck a chord deep inside her; she had been so afraid that she ran all the way back to her apartment.

That night, as she settled into a bath to help her soothe her nerves, the memories started flooding her. And she remembered.

After the visions had subsided, Guinevere sat in the bath with her arms around her knees, rocking herself until the memories stopped and her tears had ebbed. She didn't know how she got out of the tub and into her bed, but for the first time in months, she had no dreams.

She remembered waking up the next day and walking to the coffee shop where she found Merlin and Morgana seated at what she had come to think of as her "spot." She sat down with them, told them she remembered everything, and asked what they wanted.

That day, they started calling her their Queen.

They said that they wanted forgiveness, absolution, from the sins of the past. It took all of Guinevere's self-control not to break down and tear at her hair from the pain of it all.

Instead she told them that if she had to live with this pain, then so should they. She would not forgive them for the misery she endured for centuries. She would not forget the lies and the destruction and the blood they spilled to save him and damn her.

Him. Arthur. The King. Albion.

Guinevere sighed and shook her head clear of the memories of centuries past. She picked up her handbag and started to walk home. She would not think about Arthur anymore.

She reached her apartment and made her way to the bathroom to run her nightly bath. Then she walked over to the counter of her sink and began preparing her ritual of repentance. She put water in a shallow porcelain dish for the journey, lit a candle for guidance, and floated a sprig of rosemary on the water for remembrance.

She could do nothing more for all the innocents lost over the ages, but she always hoped that the intention of her humble tribute was received well.

"Forgive me," she said to no one and everyone. _For failing you when I should have been stronger._

Guinevere then walked to the tub, put in a few drops of lavender oil, and waited until the scent permeated the room. She took off her clothes and sank into the warm water, not caring that she hadn't put her hair up in its customary bun.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax, but the thought of what Morgana had said earlier rang in her head.

"Albion will fall."

What did she mean by that?


	6. Chapter 6

**-6-**

Arthur popped his third pain tablet of the day. The headaches didn't go away with the first or the second one. In fact, he was pretty sure that they had gotten worse.

He sat behind the massive desk in his office and pressed his fingers to his temples, hoping that just the right amount of pressure would relieve him of the pounding in his head.

"What the hell," he muttered, closing his eyes against the pain. But instead of the blackness that comes with this action, he was assaulted with images.

Fire, crumbling walls, a sword glinting in the sunlight, eyes suddenly flashing gold, and a woman with long, dark hair looking at him with love.

Arthur's eyes suddenly sprang open. The images came in flashes, like glimpses seen through the window of a fast-moving car. The images of the sword and the fire soon faded away, but the face of the woman seemed to burn in his mind. He knew that if he closed his eyes, he would see her again, but he held back. Something inside him sensed that it would be dangerous to do so, but why?

He ran a hand through his hair and then moved to pick up his mobile phone. Without thinking, he pressed a button and waited for a call to connect.

"Hello?" Merlin's voice spoke into his ear.

"Merlin?" Arthur was flabbergasted. Why had he called Merlin?

"Mr. Pendragon," Merlin's voice hinted at curiosity. "Is there anything you need, sir?"

"Uh, nothing," Arthur mumbled. "I must have dialed the wrong number. Sorry."

"Are you all right, sir?" Merlin's voice was worried, and Arthur knew that if he answered to the affirmative, Merlin would be here and waiting on him until he was ready to go home.

"I'm fine," Arthur bit out, annoyance adding to the throbbing of his head. "It's just that this goddamned headache won't go away."

"Should I tell Dr. Gaius to expect a visit from you tomorrow?"

"What?" Arthur frowned. "No, no. No doctor's visits until after I've sorted out Leodegrance."

"If you're sure, Mr. Pendragon."

"I'm sure," Arthur wanted to end this call already. "Good night Merlin."

"Good night, sir."

Arthur ended the call and gave in a little to his fatigue. He laid his forehead down on his desk; the highly polished dark wood felt cool on his skin. His eyes fluttered shut and he once again saw the face of the woman.

Her skin was a few shades darker than burnished copper and her eyes were the darkest of browns. There was a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose. Her lips were full and generous. As she looked at him, a corner of her mouth turned up in a smile, it was then that he noticed that she was bare from the waist up.

She was sitting with her back to him on a large, four poster bed. The sheets were tangled about her waist and she was looking at him over her shoulder. It was the pose of a woman beckoning to her lover, but with her, it was also innocent and sweet.

Dark curls spilled over her shoulders, down her back, and well past her waist. And as she turned to face him, Arthur saw the dip of her waist, the flatness of her stomach, the generous curve of a breast, and the beginnings of the flare of her round hips.

"Arthur," she said his name. "My King."

Arthur's eyes flew open, ending the dream. He had been on the verge of calling out her name. Jennifer? Genevieve? It was right on the tip of this tongue, so why couldn't he remember it?

He remembered how the woman looked as she sat on the bed. The curves of her body, how her skin glowed in the light, how she obviously wanted him. Arthur's body began to respond to the images he saw.

Who was she? And why did she call him "my king?"

"I'm going crazy," Arthur muttered to himself.

A look at the clock said that it was well after quitting time, and with a final call to his assistant Geoffrey, Arthur was out the door. He was hoping for an early night, and for more dreams filled with visions of his mysterious lover.


	7. Chapter 7

**-7-**

The next day was a flurry of activity for Guinevere. There was a stack of case studies to go over, phone calls to return, and her father had requested that she stop by his shop because he was supposed to meet a "very important bother."

Guinevere would drop everything to be with her father. She remembers all the times he had been taken away from her—by war and by force—and she vowed that she would never be far from wherever Tom was.

A few e-mails sent to people explaining why she would be a little late in responding to requests later, Guinevere was soon walking to Tom's small motor shop which was a few blocks away from her apartment.

She knocked on the familiar blue door that led to her childhood home. They lived in the apartment connecting to the shop and for as long as Guinevere could remember, the smell of oil and hot metal always meant that Tom was right next door and that she and her brother were safe.

She was unaware of the heads that had turned as she walked down the street. The stares unnerved her while she was younger, thinking that it was because of the way she looked, but as she grew older, she learned to ignore them and instead focus on the things she needed to accomplish on that particular day.

Without realizing it, Guinevere's hands moved to her wrists. In this time, she had never known manacles- handcuffs, they were called now-but her mind remembered all the times she was in shackles.

She closed her eyes briefly. There was no rush of images anymore, and her sleep wasn't tortured with dreams that were soaked in blood and ringing with helpless cries, but she didn't need to see them to remember.

It was as if she was taken, body and soul, from the past and transplanted to this time. She dressed in modern clothes, had a job like everyone else, spoke in the vernacular, but she was divided between two worlds.

Guinevere took a deep breath and walked to her father's office near the rear of the house. It had two doors: one that led into the apartment and one that took her to the machine shop next door.

"Dad?" She called out and was greeted by a smile from the burly man who was seated behind a battered office desk that was covered in folders, loose pieces of paper, and an old laptop.

"Gwen!" Tom's voice boomed. He soon had her enveloped in a hug and Guinevere closed her eyes smiled. She had always felt safe in her father's arms.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart," Tom said as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"What's wrong?" Guinevere caught the hint of worry in Tom's voice and frowned. "What is this meeting you were telling me about?"

"Remember the developer I was talking to?" Tom moved back to his desk and began to clear it up. "Well, he's coming here today."

Guinevere's frown got deeper as she moved to help her dad clean his workspace.

"And?"

"And," Tom gave Guinevere a look. "And I haven't been completely honest with you about who this person is."

Guinevere stopped picking up papers and folders and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Who is it, dad?"

"Arthur Pendragon," Tom said the name in a rush.

Guinevere sat down.

"What?"

"Pendragon, Inc. has been buying property up and down this street," Tom seemed to have given up on cleaning his desk at sat down as well. "I am the last one who is refusing to sell."

Guinevere tried to control the hammering of her heart. Arthur? Here?

"Don't look so shocked, Gwen," Tom looked at his daughter. "You know that I have been considering selling the shop for some time now."

"But where would you go?" Guinevere asked her father. "What would you do? This shop is your life."

Tom steepled his fingers looked at his daughter.

"You and your brother are my life," he said in a calm voice. "This shop provided for us and I did love the work."

"But?"

"But I am getting too old, Gwen," Tom sighed. "Pendragon, Inc. is offering a very good price for the shop and the apartment."

"What?" Guinevere could not keep the shock out of her voice this time. "They want to buy both?"

"Yes," Tom said.

"And you want to sell?"

Tom looked down. "It's time Gwen."

Father and daughter sat in silence until they were interrupted by someone ringing the doorbell.

"I want you here with me when I talk to Mr. Pendragon," Tom said as he stood up and walked to the door.

A short while later—probably spent shaking hands and exchanging good mornings—Tom called for his daughter's attention.

"Guinevere," he said and Guinevere turned. "This is Arthur Pendragon. Mr. Pendragon, this is my daughter, Guinevere."

Guinevere stood up, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who caused her pain and suffering in several lifetimes. It was only with practice that she was able to remain calm through Tom's introductions.

_"I know who he is, father."_ She thought. _"I wonder if he remembers yet."_

"Good morning, Mr. Pendragon," she said as she extended her hand for him to shake. "Please call me Gwen."

Guinevere noticed that Arthur seemed to be unable to look away from her as well.

Arthur extended his hand and held hers. Not shaking it, but simply holding it.

"Guinevere," his voice rumbled through Guinevere's body and it took all of her willpower not to close her eyes. The way he said her name had always been her undoing.


	8. Chapter 8

**-8-**

_'It's her,' _Arthur thought. _'She's the woman in my dreams. She's real.'_

He must've held her hand longer than necessary because he felt her pull away and turn to her father.

"Do you want me to bring in coffee, dad?" Her voice was warm and it flowed through him like a memory.

"I'll do it," Tom said. "Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Pendragon."

"Thank you," Arthur said and turned once again to the woman who was in the small office with him.

She sat on the chair she had previously vacated and crossed her legs at the ankle, folding her hands primly on her lap. If some other woman had done it, Arthur would have found it silly and old-fashioned, but with Guinevere, it was nothing short of regal.

He sat in the chair opposite her.

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Pendragon?" Guinevere looked at him, her face an unreadable mask.

"I'm sorry, I know it's impolite to stare," Arthur said. "But I can't shake the feeling that we've met before."

Guinevere gave a slight smile and a word reverberated in Arthur's head: _beautiful._

"I don't think so, Mr. Pendragon," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm quite sure that you don't frequent any of the places I go to."

Arthur was saved from embarrassing himself any further when Tom entered the room carrying a tray laden with a coffee pot, cups, and a bowl of sugar.

Without another word (or a glance), Guinevere stood up to help her father. Arthur stood up when she did, old-fashioned manners having been drilled into him as a young boy.

"I can do this, Gwen," Tom smiled at his daughter and sat the tray down on a side table.

Arthur waited until Guinevere had sat back down before settling in his previously abandoned chair. He tried to look disinterested but he couldn't keep his eyes from the woman who was a few inches away from where he was. His fingers itched to reach out to her, to touch her, to pull her close to him, but from the way she looked at him—like he was something disgusting that she had trod on—Arthur knew that he had better stay away.

Tom gave each of them a cup filled with the fragrant brew. Arthur took a sip and marveled at how perfect it was.

"You'll have to tell me your secret, Mr. Leodegrance," he said as he set down his cup.

"You'll have to talk to Gwen," Tom smiled at his daughter. "She taught me how to do it."

Guinevere gave a small laugh that flowed over Arthur. There was something about this woman that was familiar to him, and it wasn't just because he had been dreaming about her.

"Shall we get down to business?" Tom sat behind his desk and fixed Arthur with a steady look. "I know this isn't a social call, Mr. Pendragon."

"Arthur, please," he liked dispensing with formalities. "Mr. Pendragon is for my father."

Arthur noted that Tom didn't encourage him to use his first name.

"Mr. Leodegrance," Arthur began. "Pendragon, Inc. has made it clear from the beginning that we are prepared to pay you more than double the estimated value of your property. What I don't understand is why you have taken this long to inform us about your decision to sell."

"I have spent 30 years of my life in this part of town, Mr. Pendragon," Tom's voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the will behind it. "I will not just pack up and leave."

Arthur bowed his head. He had heard this before, but he also knew that everyone can be swayed to ally with the Pendragons.

"What plans does your company have for this part of town, Mr. Pendragon?" Guinevere asked.

"Office buildings," he answered simply. "This location is strategic, even if it is a distance from the financial district. And please call me Arthur."

"How soon do you expect a response, Mr. Pendragon?" Guinevere pointedly ignored Arthur's request. Arthur got the message loud and clear: her formal address let him know that he held no sway over her.

"I would like to leave here with one," he told Guinevere honestly before turning to speak to Tom once again. "Mr. Leodegrance, surely you realize that there is no reason to let this go on longer than it already has."

Tom was quiet as he contemplated Arthur's words. He had arrived at a decision weeks ago, but just wanted to see how sincere the Pendragons were with their offer.

Guinevere seemed to notice her father's mood and stood up. Arthur did the same.

"I will leave you two to talk," she gave Tom a smile before moving to the door. "Let me know if you need anything."

After a perfunctory glance at Arthur, she walked out of the office. He stared at her every step of the way.


	9. Chapter 9

**-9-**

Guinevere closed the door behind her and immediately made her way to the living room. She sat down in Tom's large armchair and took several steadying breaths.

It was only when she had calmed down did she allow herself to think about the man currently in the office with her father. It had become clear that she and the King would meet in every lifetime and that their past and futures would always be intertwined, but even with knowing that, Guinevere was not prepared for the jolt of emotion that raced through her when she looked into his eyes.

She dropped her face into her hands and willed herself to focus. Now was not a time to fall apart. What with Merlin and Morgana's warning about Albion's destruction if she did not ally herself with them, and with Arthur showing up with no memory of who he was, she needed to be stronger than ever. Arthur will remember one day—after all, didn't she live most of her life blissfully unaware of her past?—and she would have to relive her nightmares all over again.

Guinevere lifted her head and took a deep breath.

"It has to stop," she said out loud.

"I'm sorry," a deep male voice said from the doorway. "What has to stop?"

Arthur.

Guinevere turned her head and regarded the man standing there. He looked tired and there was a slight crease between his brows as he watched her. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers and he was looking at her with no amusement on his face. He was studying her.

"Nothing," she shook her head and stood up. "I take it that the negotiations are over?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "And I apologize, Ms. Leodegrance, if you do not approve of my methods..."

"Your methods are none of my business," Guinevere cut in. "It's my father that I am thinking about."

"I didn't shortchange your father," Arthur's voice was rising.

"I never said you did," the steel in Guinevere's voice matched his.

An uneasy silence hung between them. Guinevere started for the doorway, hoping to have a few words with her dad before she left, when Arthur's hand on her arm stopped her from moving.

"Who are you?" He asked as he looked into her eyes.

Guinevere looked at the hand encircling her wrist and then up at the man whose gaze was fixed on her. She saw no aggression and no malice in them, but there were a lot of questions. Had she been weaker, had she not learned from her past, she knew she would have given in. But she wasn't that person anymore.

"I would suggest letting me go, Mr. Pendragon," she said in a calm voice.

Arthur looked down and saw his hand locked around her wrist.

"I'm sorry," he dropped her arm and rubbed his brow. "I apologize, I...I don't know what came over me."

Guinevere nodded, acknowledging his apology, but neither accepting it nor absolving him. She started to walk away again, only to be stopped by Arthur once more.

"Ms. Leodegrance," his tone was more cautious now. "Who are you?"

Guinevere raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at him.

"Excuse me?"

"I have the strangest feeling that I've met you before," Arthur's eyes searched hers. "That, you and I, we mean something to each other."

Guinevere hoped that her sudden intake of breath would be unnoticed by Arthur.

He was beginning to remember.

"I think you'd better leave, Mr. Pendragon," she gestured to the door with a lift of her chin. "You have what you came for."

"I meant no offense...," Arthur began to walk toward her.

"Goodbye, Mr. Pendragon," Guinevere's tone told him that the conversation was over. "Please close the door on your way out."

Arthur stopped in his tracks and looked at her.

"Again, Ms. Leodegrance," he said when he passed her on his way to the front door. "I apologize. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Guinevere said nothing as he walked out of her father's home. Only when she no longer heard the engine of his car did she expel the breath she had been holding.

"It won't be long," she told herself. "He will remember soon and God help..."

She stopped herself from continuing that sentence.

No.

God help Arthur Pendragon. This time, she will stand up for herself.


	10. Chapter 10

**-10-**

Arthur drove through the streets without a direction in mind. His thoughts kept returning to Guinevere.

Guinevere.

Her name alone struck something inside him. Even without the visions of her in his dreams, Arthur was sure that had he heard her name, the effect on would be the same. She was the woman in his dreams, he didn't imagine that.

Finally having enough of the city traffic, Arthur made his way home. "Home," of course, was Camelot, the ostentatiously named ancestral home of the Pendragons. Big, sprawling, and impossibly intimidating, it sat on a hill a few miles out of the city. Among the green fields and old trees of the countryside, it was a massive stone reminder of the importance of his family and what they represented: they were the lords of the land.

Arthur had grown up thinking that it looked like a wart on a witch's chin.

But, it was home. For now, at least.

He had lived in Camelot with his father, Uther, but when the elder Pendragon took ill, Arthur had moved them to city where it was easier for Uther to get the medical care he needed. When his father died last year, he told himself that there was little reason to stay in Camelot. He may be the Pendragon heir, but Arthur never found happiness within Camelot's walls. If anything, misery was the only emotion he associated with the place.

But the Pendragons were sticklers for tradition, and Arthur was, above all things, his father's son. He stayed in a townhouse in the city where he worked, but every weekend was spent in Camelot. He would never say it out loud, but he was beginning to enjoy the solitude it offered.

It was just too empty.

There was a massive staff on hand, of course. The grounds needed tending, the inside of the mansion always needed cleaning, there were heirlooms that needed looking after, and Arthur did occasionally bring back friends for gatherings. But those gatherings were few and far between now, and he was tired of the women who thought that an invitation to Camelot meant that they were part of his inner circle.

He was in his thirties, and as cliché as it may sound, Arthur was starting to think that settling down was not a bad idea. He saw his employees with their children, his closest friends with their families, and he envied them.

But there was never the right woman and he had never felt the need to go and find her.

Until today.

Guinevere.

Arthur expelled a breath as he remembered how they parted.

"What were you thinking, Arthur?" He scowled as he reprimanded himself. "Why did you have to grab her arm like that?"

Arthur remembered the look of loathing that crossed her features as he held her wrist. Her voice—so warm when she talked with her father—dripped with ice whenever she spoke to him. But there was that one moment, when she was alone in Tom's living room, when he saw her without her walls. Her unhappiness connected with something primal inside him and all he wanted to do was slay her demons.

"Stop being irrational," Arthur said out loud. He had met Guinevere just 30 minutes before and knew nothing about her worries.

But if he were being completely honest with himself, Arthur knew that it was the moment when he had fallen irrevocably, unapologetically hard for her. And, he didn't know how, but he would fight to the end to win—no, to deserve—her love.

The road curved to a more familiar stretch and Arthur was greeted by a sign that said "Private Property. Trespassers will be made to leave." He laughed. Just like the Pendragons to inject ego into everything they owned. He was still laughing as he approached the barrier that separated Camelot from the rest of the world.

Massive iron gates slid open as Arthur's car paused in front of them. He drove down the curving driveway, feeling the familiar sway as tires crunched over the small stones that paved it. A few minutes later, he was in front of the ornate stone facade that was the main house.

After handing the keys of his car to a waiting staff member, Arthur made his way inside the house. Marble, dark wood, and all manners of priceless heirlooms greeted him. He stood in the middle of the large front hall, looking at all the treasures other Pendragons before him had amassed, and felt, for the first time, a deep loneliness.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out the cliché greeting and heard it ring out in the empty house.

"Welcome home, Arthur," he whispered this time.

He walked up the stairs and made his way to his bedroom and as soon as he opened the door and saw the bed, he sucked in his breath and put a hand to his forehead.

Done up in cream, gold, and red fabric, the dark wood four-poster bed that had been the focal point of the bedroom for as long as he could remember seemed to mock him.

This was the bed in his dream. The one where Guinevere had lounged on as she beckoned for Arthur to join her.

Guinevere on his bed—a nude Guinevere on his bed—calling for him to come to her. It didn't take much imagination to know what the invitation meant.

He walked slowly to an armchair and sat down. He looked at the bed for a moment and then rubbed a hand across his eyes. After what happened between him and Guinevere, he was tired. But how was he supposed to rest when he seemed to be constantly reminded of her presence?

Awake, there was the memory of how she said his name. Asleep, there was the image of her calling him to lay with her.

The latter brought Arthur's attention back to the bed.

"She's not a dream," he spoke aloud in the empty room. "She's real."

"The dreams aren't dreams," Arthur told himself. They were too detailed, and they brought out too many emotions in him.

He remembered the dreams of him riding out to war, of driving a sword into the bodies of his enemies, the thunder of the hooves of a thousand horses charging into battle, and the feel of hot blood spattering his face.

There were other images too, and these were the ones he kept in the back of his mind, too afraid to acknowledge that he had seen them. They were all of Guinevere, he was sure of it now. Arthur saw her walking to meet him in a great hall, her glowing face as her body rounded with pregnancy, her despair as she wailed over a small body covered with a red cloth embroidered with golden thread. And of her asking his forgiveness as she burned in a pyre.

Arthur didn't dwell on these dreams, especially on the ones where Guinevere begged for absolution. These were the dreams that woke him. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his hands reaching out for that phantom body; her name, once unknown to him, a choking lump in his throat.

"Memories," the word whispered out of Arthur.

But memories of what? He had never met her before, had no knowledge of her existence until this morning. How could he have memories of someone he had never met?

Arthur was tired, but not so tired that he could not do one more thing. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Merlin," he spoke into the mobile device. "I need your help. You and Morgana. Can you two join me in Camelot this weekend?"


	11. Chapter 11

**-11-**

Guinevere made her way back to Tom's office. She removed all thought of Arthur from her head as she crossed the threshold and saw her father starting to once again make sense of the clutter that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his desk

"Where will you go, dad?" she asked her father who was actually humming as he began to make a list of possessions to keep, give away, or dispose.

"France," Tom said with a smile on his face. "I've always wanted to go back to Avignon. That's where I met your mother, you know."

"I know," Guinevere's smile was soft and she walked up to her father and hugged him.

"There is so much of her in you, Gwen," Tom said as he held his daughter. "She would have been so, so proud of you and Elyan."

Guinevere was quiet for a moment as she basked in her father's words. When she was a little girl, being told that she and her brother were mirrors of their mother was the height of praise. Even in this lifetime, Guinevere's mother died before she had any solid memories of her, but she was always told that her mother was kind, smart, beautiful, and talented.

"I miss her, dad," Guinevere said in a small voice.

"Me, too," Tom admitted. His voice was gruff. "Every day."

A few tears were shed, but as always, father and daughter parted with smiles and Guinevere promised to come back to help Tom in clearing the house and shop. Arthur had been generous, Tom said. He had given Tom a couple of weeks to get things in order, even offering to have people come and help him move out the heavier furniture and appliances.

Guinevere smiled as well and agreed that it was very generous of Arthur. But in the back of her mind she knew that it was another way for him to keep tabs on her. She knew what instructions she would give to the people who would be at her father's home.

She was having none of that.

"Call me when you need me, dad," she told Tom as he accompanied her to the door.

"There's no need, Gwen," Tom brushed off his daughter's offer with a wave of his hand. "Elyan and I can handle the heavier lifting and moving."

"And the other...items?"

"Well," Tom relented and rubbed a large hand over his jaw. "The three of us will need to go through the legal documents as well as the items in the bank safe boxes."

"When will Elyan be coming?" Guinevere asked. Her brother lived on the other side of the city, and as his job kept him busy as well, their schedules took a lot of time to arrange.

"He'll be here tonight and we'll start with the packing up tomorrow."

"Well, you two know where to find me."

Guinevere hugged her father again and said goodbye. It was early afternoon and Guinevere started to make her way home, hoping the short walk back to her flat would help her sort out the emotions brought about by the morning's revelations.

Seeing Arthur again was an unpleasant surprise. She had hoped that she would have some more time before it happened, but Guinevere always knew that it would happen—she had already met Merlin and Morgana, it stood to reason that Arthur would complete the triangle. He was never far when the witch and warlock were around.

Arthur. Merlin. Morgana.

Guinevere sighed. The unholy trinity was complete and, once again, she was in the middle of the mess they had started centuries before. Magic and force were telling her to ally with them to save Albion.

_"Is that to be my lot in life?"_ Guinevere thought bitterly. _"To constantly come to the aid of people who have power but very little sense?"_

She shook her head, the movement making her curls sway.

_"No more,"_ she told herself. _"I've sacrificed myself to Albion time and time again. I gave up everything to salvage a kingdom that rejoiced in my deaths."_

Guinevere lifted her head, the familiar steely resolve back in her eyes.

_"No,"_ the word rang in her mind. _"This time, I damn Albion and save myself."_

This time, they will burn.

She walked home, her footsteps solid and purposeful on the concrete sidewalk, unaware of the man in the dark gray suit who watched her from the shadows.


	12. Chapter 12

**-12-**

"He wants us in Camelot?" Morgana's voice was disbelieving as she looked at her friend. "Now?"

"Yes," Merlin said. "He wants us to spend the weekend at Camelot."

"Should we?"

Merlin nodded and exchanged a look with Morgana.

"He met with the Queen this morning," Merlin's struggled to keep his voice even. "And I think that made him start to remember."

Morgana's breathing quickened. It was finally happening; maybe this was the start of their absolution.

"She will always be the heart of him," Morgana's voice broke as she said the words.

Merlin stood silently as Morgana took control of her emotions. The witch's past had slowly caught up with her, and while hate once fueled her actions, the guilt and remorse that came after it was what was truly threatening to destroy her.

"Morgana," Merlin said after a while. "Are you ready?

He had learned a long time ago that letting Morgana dwell on these emotions was not a good idea. It nearly drove her mad once, and it took Merlin a long time to repair the damage caused by her guilt.

"Let her die," he remembered Arthur's words from long ago. "I don't want her to be saved.

Merlin looked at the king. The golden glow that he had always associated with Arthur was long gone. There was no light left in his friend, it had gone with the Queen.

"Guinevere would want her to be saved," Merlin had countered softly as he laid his hands on the dying witch to begin healing her soul.

Arthur had been quiet and after a while Merlin heard his footsteps walking away. Merlin knew that this was as close as he would get to acquiring Arthur's permission.

Merlin hid Morgana in Time. Hoping that the ages would protect her the way he would never be able to. It took Time for Morgana's mind to calm and for her soul to mend, and when he came back for her, much of her power was gone.

"It's the price I have to pay," Morgana explained when he asked what happened. "An eye for an eye."

"Then why are you alive?" The question was out of Merlin before he could stop it.

"My...forgiveness will come at the pleasure of the Queen," Morgana had whispered. "My life as well."

"Guinevere?" Merlin was shocked. "She's mortal. She has no power."

Morgana shook her head.

"She _is_ the power, Merlin," she corrected him gently. "She brought Camelot to its knees without drawing blood."

"We killed her, Morgana," Merlin had whispered. "We've been killing her for ages."

Morgana nodded.

"Am I damned as well?" Merlin asked, fear making his voice shake. He was sure of his power, but he knew that even he was not exempt from the justice of Time.

"We all are," Morgana looked at the warlock. "You. Me. Arthur."

Merlin pulled himself away from the memories, and focused instead on the woman before him who was visibly trembling in fear.

"Morgana," Merlin knelt in front of his friend. "Don't be afraid. I will be with you."

"Yes," she clutched at his hands. "Thank you."

Merlin put an arm around Morgana and helped her stand up.

"We have to go now," he said gently, reminding them of their waiting boss. "You know how impossible Arthur can be."

"He can stand to be kept waiting," a small smile formed on Morgana's lips. "You would think that time would have tempered his attitude."

"Once a prat," Merlin began.

"Always a prat," Morgana completed the sentence.

They looked at each other and laughed. They had changed so much, friendship replacing the animosity and distrust that had fueled their wars over the ages. They were still the most powerful magical beings of any day and age, even if their abilities had been diminished.

But for the first time, they could do nothing to influence the world. They were hostages in this age, and they had to trust that the love that they had taken for granted in the past would save them now.

"Let's get this over with," Morgana's voice was strong now. Determination flashed from her eyes.

Merlin nodded. He kept his arm around his friend as they made their way upstairs to get ready for their audience with the king.


	13. Chapter 13

**-13-**

Arthur was surprised at how little time it took for Morgana and Merlin to reach Camelot. He called them not an hour ago, and here they were, impeccably dressed. He was impressed at how calm they were—most of the employees who were invited to the estate were nervous and fidgety. Probably because they knew that whatever was going to be requested of them would make or break their careers.

But Arthur had long ago come to the conclusion that these two were not the Pendragon employees he was used to.

They were in the study, a large room that had seen its fair share of confidential meetings between his father and several of board members. Arthur had only ever used it as a place to escape unwanted attention when the large gatherings hosted at Camelot became too unbearable.

Until today.

Morgana and Merlin sat in two armchairs in front of him. Once again, a desk separated them. This time it was a big oak affair that was as deep as it was wide. Dark and carved with the same ornate dragon that also appeared on the Pendragon coat of arms, the desk had been passed down from father to son for generations.

Arthur liked this desk, it was a symbol of power. It was an effective barrier that clearly marked the line between lord and peon. But this was not a time for demarcations. His request, while important, was personal, and Arthur thought that it would be best if he appealed to Merlin and Morgana's more emotional side.

He moved in front on the table, taking his place in the space between the two. Arthur chose to stand, thinking that while he needed to be friendly, he wasn't ready to remove all the barries that separated him from everyone else.

"Guinevere Leodegrance," he said her name plainly.

Morgana raised an eyebrow and exchanged a sideways glance with her colleague.

"What about her, Mr. Pendragon?" She gave a small smile at the man standing in front of her.

"Who is she?"

Arthur looked slowly from Morgana to Merlin. Something...electric seemed to pass between them as he asked the question.

It was Merlin who first spoke.

"She's Thomas Leodegrance's youngest daughter," he said simply. "She graduated at the top of her class with degrees in Political Science and History."

"But she chose to be a social worker," Morgana volunteered this information. "She's been working for the same non-government organization for three years."

"Ms. Leodegrance handles spousal abuse cases," Merlin said. His voice was even, but it was hard to miss the way his lip curled at the mention of "abuse."

Arthur wasn't surprised. Guinevere exuded a determined strength and he could only imagine her going toe-to-toe with an abusive spouse.

Merlin and Morgana didn't miss the smile that bowed Arthur's lips or how his features softened as he digested this information.

"What of her brother?" He asked again.

"Elyan Leodegrance," Morgana answered. "Thirty years old, three years older than his sister. He was in the military up until three years ago before he was given an honorable discharge."

"Why was he dismissed?"

"He beat up a soldier who was forcing himself on a woman," Morgana said plainly. "The man was in traction for a month."

"There was nothing on the news about this," Arthur was confused. This was a big case, why wasn't it made public?

"The woman didn't want to come out in the public," Merlin explained. "The other soldier came from a long line of military men and they didn't want to sully their name."

"There's something else, Emrys?" Arthur pressed.

"The family knew of their son's...impulses," Merlin gave the word a slight emphasis. "All they asked was that the court martial proceedings be kept quiet."

"Guilty?" Arthur asked.

"As hell," Morgana said, the hate plain in her tone. "But Lt. Leodegrance chose to leave, anyway."

"Why?"

"Mr. Leodegrance had his first heart attack," Morgana said simply.

Arthur nodded.

"Where is Lt. Leodegrance now?"

Merlin gave an address.

"He owns a motor shop just like his father," he said and then smiled. "But he's trying to get a teacher's certificate."

"They're a good, solid family, Mr. Pendragon," Morgana said. A smile was also on her lips.

Arthur nodded and rubbed his jaw. Salt-of-the-earth, kind, and tight-knit, he wasn't surprised.

"Have I..." Arthur paused before completing his sentence. "Have I met Guinevere before? At a Pendragon function?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes as he looked at the young executive.

"Why, sir?" He asked warily. "Is there...an issue between you and Ms. Leodegrance?"

Arthur regarded the lawyer with a level stare. Just how much should he divulge?

"I want you to find out what you can about Guinevere," he finally said. He left the statement open to interpretation.

Merlin cocked an eyebrow.

"Personal information, sir?

Arthur nodded.

"All above board, of course," his tone was matter-of-fact. "Any secrets, red flags..."

"Romantic entanglements?" Morgana asked.

"Yes."

The two lawyers nodded and Arthur was pleased.

"I've asked the staff to prepare your rooms for this weekend," he said as he gestured to the door. "Make yourselves at home."

The meeting was over and Merlin and Morgana took their leave.

Arthur was determined to find out everything about Guinevere. The emotions she brought out in him weren't normal, and he wanted to know how to prepare for their next encounter.

Arthur smiled. He had always been a very good hunter.


	14. Chapter 14

**-14-**

Guinevere made her way home with little fuss; the short walk from Tom's to her apartment doing little to clear her mind, but she determinedly pushed her worries away. There were more pressing issues she had to deal with, and the people who relied on her would not wait until she resolved her problems.

She kicked off her shoes as soon as she arrived at her flat and went to work at once. There were three cases that required her attention, and she was soon caught up in the paperwork needed to process them. Phone calls, e-mails, and going through legal reference took up most of her day. It wasn't until her mobile phone rang did she even realize that the day slipped by.

"Hello?" She asked into the mouthpiece.

"Sis?" It was her brother, Elyan.

"Hi, Elyan!" Guinevere put closed the folder of the file she was working on and smiled.

"Hey, Gwen," Elyan said. "I just wanted to let you know that dad and I got most of the arrangements for the hauling done. He wanted to give you a heads up in case you got worried.

She heard her Tom laughing in the background and despite her tiredness, Guinevere smiled, too.

"Mmmm," she gave a satisfied mumble. "That's good to know. So, do you guys need me for anything?"

"No, were good. This is basically gruntwork now. But we do need to get together for the insurance and the safety deposit boxes."

"All right, just let me know when I should be there."

"Won't be for another few days," Elyan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Dad's got a lot of stuff. He kept every single card we made for him in school."

Guinevere did laugh at that. Tom had always been sentimental.

Brother and sister chatted a bit more until she felt the beginnings of a headache. Elyan must've picked up on her tension because he asked if anything was the matter.

"No," Guinevere said as she rubbed her temple with a free hand. "Just a headache, that's all."

Elyan huffed. "Have you eaten anything at all today?"

She sheepishly answered to the negative.

After a few choice words from her brother, Guinevere conceded defeat and agreed that an early night in would be the best course of action. After saying her goodbyes, she ate a quick dinner and made her way to the bathroom, soaking away her tension in a hot bath before heading to bed.

And for the first time in months, Guinevere dreamt of Camelot.

She saw herself in Arthur's chambers, wearing lavender silk edged in pale gold lace. A heavy crown was on her head-amethysts nestled among filigreed gold flowers.

She was standing by an open window, looking at a moon that shone brightly over a dark stretch of land. In the dream, she was lost in thought, but her mind was calm. She felt no fear, just an overwhelming sense of peace accompanied by a fluttering of excitement in her stomach.

She was taken out of her reverie by the sound of an opening door. Guinevere turned and immediately smiles at the sight of Arthur, resplendent in a dark crimson cape, a crown of gold also encircling his head. He was dressed in ceremonial mail, the links glinting as they caught the light of what seemed like a thousand candles that were strewn about the room.

"My Lord," she said and dropped in a curtsy. Her actions, though, were meant more to tease than to show obeisance.

"My Queen." Arthur gave her a bow, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye as he straightened. "My wife."

He crossed the distance that separated them, his arms going about her waist as he reached her. He looked into her eyes as her fingers idly toyed with the dragons that decorated the clasp which held his cape in place.

"Alone at last," Guinevere whispered, loving how Arthur's breathing quickened at her words.

"Finally," he said in a voice that mirrored his desire.

"I've missed you, Arthur," she confessed.

For all its pomp and pageantry, her coronation had been a legal ceremony, installing her as a sovereign of the kingdom. Advisers had schooled her for weeks, telling her how to walk, to kneel, the words to say, and even where to train her eyes when the king placed the crown on her head.

Arthur had held her hand throughout most of the ceremony; his warmth a welcome comfort against the appraising looks she received from some of the invited royals. After all, it wasn't too long ago that she was a servant, and only a few months before banished from the kingdom for offenses against the crown.

But love had won out in the end. The wedding ceremony was simple and quiet, as she preferred. Their audience limited to the vicar, Gaius, Merlin, Elyan, and the knights closest to her and Arthur. Her now-husband had worried that she had no ladies-in-waiting, but she appeased him by saying that she had dressed and taken care of herself for years, and that she could manage without one for one more day.

Her dress had been simple, white lace over ivory silk, the boat neckline showing off the elegant lines of her neck and shoulders. She asked for no veil, instead opting to tie her curls back with her mother's silver hair clasp. She held a bouquet of lilacs, lavender, and wildflowers and their scent had permeated the small room where they were announced as husband and wife.

In contrast, her proclamation as Queen of Camelot was a day of festivity and by the end of it, Guinevere was tired and a bit cross because she and Arthur had to separate to attend to their guests. But her annoyance was forgotten as soon as her husband held her in his arms.

"You still smell like lavender," Arthur said as he buried his nose in her hair. "I must smell like a stable."

She laughed. "Hardly, my love. You smell like sunshine."

She planted a small kiss at the base of his neck, enjoying how his pulse seemed to flutter as she touched it with her lips.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, his voice drawing out her name in the way that made her weak in the knees.

"Crowns off?" She asked.

"Crowns off." He agreed.

Very gently, she lifted the crown from Arthur's head, setting it on one of the plush velvet pillows that had been placed on a table in their room. Arthur reciprocated her actions, but this time, he also took off the jeweled clasp that was used to pull back her hair. He ran his fingers through her curls, loosening them, until they flowed like a dark river down her back.

"Arthur," Guinevere said softly, lust coloring her voice.

He heard her and without much preamble, pulled her close to him and crushed her lips with his own.

Their hands were impatient and clothes were quickly removed. Silk, satin, and the finest of cottons pooled at their feet, and when Guinevere finally stood naked in front of her husband, there was no shyness in her eyes. She reveled in the love and desire she saw in Arthur's gaze, feeling her nipples harden under his gaze. Need uncoiled within her and every inch of her skin clamored for his touch.

Arthur carried her in his arms and laid her down on the bed, its rich velvet cover adding to the sensations brought about by his touch. He trailed reverent kisses from her temple to her shoulder to her hip, his fingers following the path they paved.

Guinevere moaned softly and ran her hands over Arthur's body, enjoying how he, too, felt under her touch. She found even greater pleasure when he gasped as her fingers found particularly sensitive spots along the way.

Her thighs parted of their own volition, inviting Arthur's gaze to her most secret places. He touched her core, his fingers finding her soft, wet, and hot. His thumb worked at the nub of flesh and nerves between her folds.

"Arthur," Guinevere said, her voice guttural. "Please."

"Please what, my Queen?"

"I need you."

He slid over her, his hard cock nestling between her folds.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, gritting his teeth as he fought for control. "This may hurt, love."

Her eyes showed no fear and no hesitation, just pure love for the beautiful man above her. Guinevere nodded and spread her legs wider, planting her feet on the bed, allowing Arthur to bury himself deep within her.

"I am yours Arthur," she said as she traveled her hands down the sides of his body, loving how his muscles formed steel under the silk of his skin. "Body and soul, I am yours, my King."

He slid slowly into her, making her feel every bit of his length but also caring so that no discomfort happens as their bodies join.

Guinevere moaned in her sleep, the images in her dream taking over as her body remembered how she moved with Arthur, calling out his name as she reached her climax.

Miles away, in a bedroom much like the one in her dream, Arthur's eyes sprang open the same time hers did. And like her, he is recalling a dream that is more memory than fiction. But while Guinevere was trying to rid herself of the images, Arthur was desperately holding on, his body craving hers and his heart longing for a woman who turned his life around mere hours after meeting.


	15. Chapter 15

**-15-**

Arthur woke with a start. He didn't have to look down to know that he had spilled his seed. There was throbbing in his loins that told him that while his mind was now lucid, his body still was not sated.

With a groan, he stood up and walked to the dresser to get a fresh pair of sleep pants. He was still hard and unable to wipe the vision of Guinevere from his mind. It felt more than just a dream; Arthur could still remember the feel of her skin under his fingers, how her lips tasted, how she felt wrapped around him.

Surely, such vivid images were not figments of his imagination? How could he ever make up how perfect she felt in his arms?

Arthur sat back down on his bed, closed his eyes as he dropped his head into his hands. His body was humming with arousal; he needed to be with Guinevere again.

"Again?" He asked aloud. "There is no 'again', Arthur. You were dreaming."

Or was he?

He remembered the other parts of the dream. He saw her in white lace, carrying a bouquet of flowers as she recited words pledging herself to him. He saw himself placing a crown of gold on her head. He saw her wrapped in lavender silk as she gazed out of a window.

These images were as clear as day. Arthur knew that he could not have made these up.

"I'm going crazy," he said as he shook his head. "Guinevere, what have you done to me?"

She called him her king, and she, his queen. Were they just terms of endearment?

"Snap out of it, Arthur," he berated himself. To think of himself as Guinevere's lover was one thing, to imagine himself as king was bordering on madness.

He focused instead on the part of the dream that made him the happiest.

They were married. She pledged herself to him and he to her. A smile spread across his face as he remembered reciting his vow, "I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning."

He met her not 24 hours ago, and here he was, already considering marriage because of what? A dream? A vision? He shook his head again, amazed at his train of thought.

He wanted to be near her. And while it wouldn't take long for him to find out where she lived, he knew that the only thing a late night visit would get him was an interview with the police before a visit to a padded cell.

"This is impossible," he thought. "I just met her!"

But something deep inside him disagreed. It was a voice he had been trying to ignore ever since he started having these...visions. It told him to pay attention, to remember the past, to find out the truth.

What truth? What past? And how did Guinevere fit into his life? He already knew that he wanted more from her than his usual wine, dine, bed, and dash, but marriage? But, as insane as it sounded, Arthur could not find a reason to not consider it.

He closed his eyes, hoping to see the images of Guinevere in his arms and burn them into memory, but instead he was hit with pain so sharply that he almost blacked out.

Fire, a sword sheathed in a massive boulder, castle walls blackened with soot, war, blood—visions and sound flooded Arthur's mind. The thundering of hooves, the clang of metal hitting metal, and the smell of burning wood and flesh assaulted his senses. And just as he began to pray for unconsciousness to claim him, his mind's eye cleared and he saw himself in a massive hall.

It was calm and there was the sound of birds singing outside the tall windows that flanked the length of the room. Trumpets heralded the arrival of some dignitary, but when the heavy wooden doors opened, he saw a woman—dressed in lavender silk and gold lace.

Guinevere.

She walked slowly to him. Shafts of sunlight caught the gold embroidery on her dress and the simple band on her finger. Even in the midst of his pain, Arthur could not suppress the joy he felt in knowing that the piece of jewelry meant that they were now bound as husband and wife.

Husband and wife.

Not King and Queen, but husband and wife. Equals. Partners. The words swirled in Arthur's mind and immediately, the pain was gone.

New images came flooding in, and while they caused Arthur no physical pain, the memories they came with made him feel like he was falling down an endless hole. These were memories closely bound to his relationship with Guinevere: her body ripe with his child, the Queen taking her place among his knights at the Round Table, dancing with him at some banquet, holding back her emotions as he rode out to meet some warlord.

And then came the visions he tried to push away every time they came. The deaths of their children, the kiss with Lancelot, her banishment, her shackled in a filthy dungeon, bloodied after being beaten and abused by an enemy.

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he saw two figures standing, shadowed, in his doorway.

"Arthur," Merlin's voice was clear in the dark.

"Brother," Morgana's was soft and Arthur felt the undercurrent of fear that colored her tone.

Arthur got out of bed and pulled a on a shirt. He walked out of the room without acknowledging the witch and warlock who followed him into the study where their earlier meeting had taken place.

He sat down in the large chair behind the even larger table, and it was clear that this was not the Arthur of earlier that day. This was their King, the regent of Camelot, the great ruler of times past, present, and future.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you both right now."

Arthur's tone was conversational, but his words nearly caused Morgana and Merlin to drop to their knees.

"Your promise, Arthur."

"I am aware of my promise, Merlin," he reminded the warlock. "I promised to keep the Queen safe, I promised to make myself worthy of her, I promised not to fail her love, I promised to be her champion..."

Arthur's voice cracked.

"You promised to redeem her name," Morgana reminded him gently. "And we swore that we would make it happen."

He nodded and looked to the side, hoping to hide his tears from his audience.

"I promised her the end of my days."

Arthur cleared his throat and looked at the man and woman standing before him.

"And is this it?" He asked them. "Is this our final chance?"

Merlin nodded. "If you fail this time, my lord, Morgana and I will die. Never to live again."

"And the magic you hold?"

"Will die as well," Morgana said. "The balance will tip in the favor of darkness and you will perish."

"Guinevere?"

"Will survive, forget Camelot, forget who she is, and live the last of her lifetimes as a shell of her greatness."

"Albion?"

"Albion will fall."

Arthur was silent for a long moment. Merlin and Morgana did not move, looking only at the King who seemed to be lost in thought.

"I need her with me," he said so softly that it was nearly impossible to hear. "I cannot bear to be without her."

Witch and warlock exchanged looks. Their powers made them empaths, and Arthur's despair bored deep into their hearts.

"Will she know that I remember?"

"Not unless you tell her." Morgana could not remove the tremble in her voice. Arthur's pain from losing Guinevere was palpable and it was all she could do to not to wail from the agony of it.

"Thank you," Arthur looked at them. "You may go."

A bow and a curtsey, and then Arthur was alone. He opened the middle drawer of the large desk and withdrew a small silver box. He lifted the lid and, inside, nestled within a bed of deep crimson velvet, was a heavy ring.

Guinevere's ring.

Arthur removed it from its plush nest and slid it onto the last digit of his left hand.

"She will wear it again," he promised himself. "Or I will die trying."


	16. Chapter 16

**-16-**

The young man sat in his usual booth, he was surrounded by books, composition notebooks, and loose leaves of paper that were filled with scribblings. Exams were upon him and regardless of how much he told himself to prepare for the end of terms, he was, somehow, always left scrambling.

He was trying to organize the notes he had taken in class, inwardly cursing his determination to write down lectures the old-fashioned way and not use a laptop.

Finally getting a hold of the papers he needed, he bent his head and began writing, his eyes moving from notebook to textbook to some random loose sheet, all the while writing at top speed. His dark hair fell over his eyes and the curtain they provided shielded him from seeing a lanky figure in a gray suit approach his table before sitting down in the chair opposite him.

"Good morning," the man in the suit greeted him.

The college student jerked upright, a yelp of surprise caught in his throat, and he instinctively clutched at the pen in his hand, holding it like a weapon.

"Who are you?" He managed to say.

"Oh, pleasantries," the visitor said. His voice was cultured and the young man, used to answering professors who exuded the same kind of dignified importance, sat up straighter and squared his shoulders as he did so.

"I suppose one _must_ be polite." The man gave a genial smile and held out his hand. "Very well, I am Kilgarrah."

The student took the gentleman's hand and shook it, surprised that such a genteel-looking older fellow had such a strong grip.

"Hello, Mr. Kilgarrah," he said. "I'm Galahad."

Kilgarrah's eyes shone with amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you are."

Galahad immediately became suspicious. _'What's this bloke want?'_ He mused.

He took in the gentleman's clothes, his posture, the amused expression on his face, and how his eyes never wavered as he looked at him.

Oh, God.

"Look, Mr. Kilgarrah," Galahad began, nervousness making his voice shake. "I don't know..."

"Relax, boy," Kilgarrah waved a hand. "And it's just Kilgarrah, no Mr., no sir. Just Kilgarrah."

Kilgarrah's eyes now bored into him and Galahad swore that he saw flashes of fire in his irises.

"You don't know yet, do you Galahad?"

His previously-amused tone had been replaced with one that sounded like it was forged in steel.

"Tell me about yourself."

* * *

A few blocks away, Elyan Leodegrance woke to a bright morning. He was in his old bedroom in the home he grew up in, only this time, in place of the books and piles of clothes that were once strewn about, boxes piled five-high were carefully placed along his walls.

Moving day had begun.

He strode to the bathroom he once shared with his younger sister, remembering how it was once the hotbed of yelling matches between the two of them. It seemed alien, somehow, to now be the only one using it. He still fully expected Guinevere to walk through the connecting door, curls wild about her face, yelling at him to hurry up because he "wasn't the only one who needed to use the loo."

He looked in the mirror and stared at his reflection. Dark skin, hair still cropped close to his head, but the amused glint in his eye had been replaced with something harder, less forgiving. He supposed looking death in the eye every day for years was the cause of that.

Elyan sighed, closed his eyes briefly, and then turned to step into the shower.

Later, as he walked to the small dining room, he saw his father sitting at the table. Tom had his usual mug of coffee and plate of toast in front of him. The drink gone cold because he was too busy going over the pages of his newspaper.

"G'morning, pop."

Elyan strode to the older man and placed a kiss on the top of his head. Tom grunted a good morning and smiled at his boy.

"'Morning, son," he said, looking at Elyan as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Still up to helping me clear out?"

"You're on, old man." Elyan gave a little laugh as he, too, sat at the table.

Both men sat quietly, each drinking from their respective mugs and going through sections of the newspaper, they both looked up when the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Elyan said as he stood up. "Go drink your coffee, pop. And get some proper breakfast."

He pointed to the untouched pieces of toast on Tom's plate. They were already cold.

Tom harrumphed as Elyan went to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Leodegrance?" A female voice said on the other line.

"Thomas or Elyan?"

A pause, and then, "Elyan, please."

"This is he." Elyan was puzzled. The voice was not familiar to him.

"Mr. Leodegrance my name is Morgana le..."

He didn't allow her to continue.

"Arthur Pendragon's solicitor," he cut her off. "How can I help you?"

Elyan's tone was clipped and he hoped his brusqueness sent the message that her call, while tolerated, was not completely welcome in their home.

"I would like to meet with you, Mr. Leodegrance."

"I believe that all business dealings between my father and your boss have been resolved. I see no reason for further contact."

"This isn't about business, Mr. Leodegrance," Morgana's voice had grown icy as well. "It is of a more personal nature."

Elyan's eyes narrowed.

"How personal?"

"It's about your sister."

Elyan sucked in a breath. How was Gwen involved in this? He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that his father was absorbed in reading the news. He turned his attention back to the phone call.

"Time and place Ms. le Fay."

He committed the details she rattled off and said goodbye. He schooled his features into a neutral one as he walked back into the small dining room.

"Anyone important?" Tom asked his son, not looking up from the paper.

"Not particularly," Elyan said. "Just a potential business contact."

"Will you be going out today, then?"

"No, pops," he smiled at his father. "Today's for you."

Tom grunted and said, "Well, just let me know."

"Don't worry about it."

Elyan sipped from his cup of now lukewarm coffee and wondered what it was that Morgana le Fay wanted to talk about. The hollow feeling in his stomach told him that it was not good. Elyan tended to follow his gut, it got him out of a lot of potential trouble while he was still in the army.

Morgana 's voice rang in his ear.

_"It is of a more personal nature."_

Elyan frowned.

_"It's about your sister."_

He was sure about one thing, though. Harm any of his family, and you pay with your life.


	17. Chapter 17

**-17-**

Sunday was the one calm day of Guinevere's week. Five days were spent in an office where she was practically buried in legal casework, Saturdays were spent catching up on bills and other everyday worries, but Sundays were all hers.

A couple of weeks have passed by since the meeting with Arthur and with her father recently gone on his trip to France, she and Elyan had been spending much more time together. She had noticed, however that he has been distracted, often checking messages on his phone. Warning bells had gone off in Guinevere's head and with a little snooping and a lot of guilt, she found out what, or rather, who, had his attention. The knowledge drove a dagger through her heart.

She thought back to her meeting with Arthur. While it was obvious that he was unnerved when he saw her, she was quite surprised that he had not made any contact with her. She had been walking on eggshells since the meeting, jumping every time her phone rang or when someone knocked at her door. But after a few days, it was obvious that there was no big, bad Arthur to jump out at her from the shadows.

Guinevere wasn't lulled into a false sense of security, however. Hunting was one of Arthur's greatest skills, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before he trained his sights on her.

She sighed. '_Even on my days off, it's always Arthur. I constantly have to look over my shoulder to see if he's there.'_

Guinevere gave her head a shake and instead concentrated on the rows of fresh produce that lined the stalls of the weekend farmer's market. She had her regulars of course: the tomatoes from Mr. Dale, herbs from Mrs. Shipp, fresh cheese from Erica and her mother, and flowers from Melissa.

She loved the sunshine and the smells of the market. It was a welcome change from the office that took so much of her time.

"Guinevere."

She turned and saw him. Arthur. Her stomach churned and upon instinct she knew: he wasn't the businessman who met with her father weeks ago; the man in from of her was The Once and Future King.

"Sire."

It was difficult not to revert to old habits. She actually had to catch herself before falling into a curtsy.

"No more of that, Guinevere," Arthur said as he moved closer. "Never do that."

She looked at him, her face a mask devoid of any emotion—but it was difficult. This was the man she fell in love with and, even now, he still had pull over her. Her heart hammered in her chest and it took all of her willpower not to turn and run.

But she vowed never to run away ever again.

"When?" Guinevere asked. She wanted to know when he remembered.

"After I met you that day in your father's house."

She nodded then turned her attention back to the stalls of produce and continued to walk. Anything to get away from him and the feelings his nearness brought out in her.

"Wait."

He never raised his voice, not even changing the tone he used, but it carried so much authority that Guinevere automatically stopped and waited until he was beside her once again.

She looked up at him, noting how the early morning sun turned him completely golden. Guinevere resisted the temptation to raise her hand so she could shield her eyes from the glow. The familiar burn was back in her stomach, and her hands yearned once again to touch him. Even after lifetimes, he still had this effect on her.

"Yes?" She asked.

Her curt question erased the confident smile from his face.

"Will you dine with me this evening?"

Her brow furrowed as she considered what he was asking.

_'What are you up to Arthur?'_


	18. Chapter 18

**-18-**

He saw her before she took notice of him. She walked slowly among the stalls, pausing at those that were obviously her regular haunts. She looked different: more relaxed, not hesitating to smile at familiar faces.

Arthur had been orphaned of that smile, and seeing it again—even though it wasn't for him—filled the gap in his heart that was empty of her, even if only partway.

She was bathed in the golden light of the early morning sun. It turned her dark curls into a myriad of colors: the deepest of reds to the richest of browns to the darkest of blacks where it rested against the slope of her neck.

He remembered how he would play with her curls as she slept in his arms, loving how they felt woven around his fingers. He recalled how they always smelled perfectly of lavender and the scent that was uniquely her.

Looking at her from the shade provided by a stall, Arthur couldn't help but marvel at Guinevere. Kindness came so easy to her; a smile, a touch, a word of comfort—they all brought a little bit of peace during the worst of times.

He thought back on all the times he sought out the haven of her presence. She never once hinted that he was imposing on her time; she always made feel welcome, cherished, important, loved. And even when it was she who was hurting, she never forgot to ask about the ones she was with.

Guinevere was a better person that he could ever hope to become. And all those times when she was looked upon as being weak, she was the strongest one of all of them.

And he cast her strength aside.

He told her once that it was her counsel that he valued above all, only to banish her because she faltered that one time.

He stepped out of the shade of the awning and softly called out her name. Arthur waited until she turned and he saw realization slowly dawn in her eyes.

She knew.

_'Sire,'_ he heard her say and with that word, Arthur felt the walls of her resistance grow even stronger. He saw her hands clench into fists and the beginnings of a curtsey, and it took all of his will not to take her into his arms and soothe her until she was melting into him once again.

Instead, he asked that she never lower herself to him again.

She asked when his transformation happened and he told her that it was after the meeting at her father's house. She gave a quick nod and turned away from him.

Her rejection hurt.

Arthur had called out to her and when she turned to face him again, he saw the weary resignation etched in every line of her body. Her shoulders were slumped and there was a sadness in her eyes that he had never seen before. It cut him bone-deep; the woman he loved could not bear the sight of him—how could any man survive that hate?

"Will you dine with me this evening?" he heard himself ask. He was desperate for her presence, and he threw out the invitation like a lifeline.

He saw her brow furrow.

"Why?" She asked.

"I've missed you, Guinevere." He looked into her eyes and hoped that she felt the honesty in his words.

Arthur knew that she was weighing his invitation. Wondering if there was anything more to what he said. He didn't blame her. After all he had put her through, he expected her rancor and distrust, but if there was still the slightest hope of making her love him again, he would grasp that hope close.

"I can't," Guinevere finally answered and Arthur's head and shoulders drooped.

"But I can spare time right now," her voice cut through his misery and he raised his head.

"There's a small cafe around the corner," she began to say, but Arthur gave a small shake of his head.

"Come with me to Camelot."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw Guinevere take a step backward. He had no doubt that she would have fled if she had the chance. But Arthur gently took her small hand in his and softly begged her acceptance.

"Please, Guinevere."


	19. Chapter 19

**-19-**

Camelot.

The word caused warning bells to go off in Guinevere's head. The thought of being inside Camelot's walls with the man who embodied all it stood for didn't inspire comfort in her. For while Camelot did give some measure of joy, it asked for things in return. Terrible things.

But she asked herself to be brave and nodded. Soon, she was safely ensconced inside Arthur's powerful car and he was driving them to his home.

The countryside outside of the city limits was green and lush. And despite the sun firmly setting itself in the sky, Guinevere knew that here, the heat would barely be noticeable.

She watched the green fields and ancient trees dotting the landscape, anything to avoid looking at the man beside her even when she felt his gaze upon her.

"Guinevere," Arthur's voice pulled her from her reverie and she turned to look at him.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For agreeing to come with me."

Guinevere shrugged, the delicate movement of her shoulders belying her worried thoughts.

"It was bound to happen, Arthur," she said. "We might as well get this over and done with."

She turned her attention back to the view, thankful that Arthur didn't press the conversation further.

A short while later, he spoke again.

"We're here."

She saw the imposing bulk of Camelot. It wasn't the beautiful castle she had known, instead, it was a large, imposing house, all stone and brick—sitting solidly among rolling hills.

"It's changed," she said with a smile. "But still formidable."

Arthur drove up to the main house, and as soon as he turned off the engine, he stepped out of the vehicle to open the door for her. The keys were given to a waiting staff member and soon, they were walking up to the door of Camelot.

Guinevere didn't realize that she had been holding her breath until Arthur touched her elbow and urged her to relax.

"Breathe, Guinevere," he said, his lips much too close than what she felt was necessary.

She nodded and they crossed the threshold and walked into the house. Guinevere noted the rich, dark wood that gleamed under the soft lights. The Pendragon crest was evident in the antiques that were displayed throughout the entry hall and into the massive living room where he led her.

But something caught her eye and she walked toward a glass case, leaving Arthur to trail behind her.

A red cape, its color dulled by age, was framed above the fireplace. She looked up and saw the familiar gold dragon against a deep crimson shield. The sight of the cape gave her indescribable comfort; it was like seeing a friend after spending a long time apart from each other. It was just as she remembered it from long ago, and she was thankful that this, at least, was familiar to her.

"This was yours," she said.

"Technically, it is an ancient heirloom passed from father to son," Arthur's tone was amused.

Guinevere's eyes grew soft as she turned to look at Arthur. His hands were in his pockets and he looked at her with such warmth that she was unable to prevent the smile that bowed her lips.

He moved closer to her and as they stood side by side, they looked at the cape. Guinevere offered no protest when one of Arthur's hands moved to rest on the small of her back. His warmth soothed her and soon, she felt at ease.

Their attention was called by a staff member, telling them that the food was ready and waiting for them.

Arthur led her out to the back of the house, and saw that the food had been set out on the terrace. It was beautiful there: large stone urns overflowed with blooms and there were comfortable wicker chairs that were set with yellow and white cushions that lent an air of casualness that was so sorely lacking from the dark formality of the rest of Camelot.

Arthur pulled her seat out for her, waiting until she was comfortable before taking the chair opposite her. Breads, jams, marmalades, and other offerings were laid out on a side table, but Guinevere declined Arthur's offer to get what she wanted, asking instead for a cup of tea.

As she cradled the delicate porcelain cup between her hands, she couldn't help but remember all the times when she and Arthur were together like this, sharing a meal and just enjoying each other's company.

But this was now and they were not married. She was not his queen, and while this house was Camelot, she was not beholden to his will and judgment.

"We need to talk, don't we?" She finally said.

"Yes, we do."

Guinevere set the cup on the saucer and took a deep breath.

"I'm ready, Arthur."


	20. Chapter 20

**-20-**

She was ready, but was he?

He looked at the woman seated across from him and wondered if she knew just how much he would forsake if it meant her happiness. Arthur saw the sadness that never seemed to leave her eyes. Her pain tore at him because he knew he had caused it.

If he couldn't have her love, maybe he could beg for her forgiveness.

But would it be enough?

"How," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. She still made him feel like an awkward boy, not a man in charge of an empire.

"How did you find out?"

Guinevere told him of the dreams that plagued her for months, of being followed by Merlin and Morgana when she still had no memory of who she was. She told him how she ran when they introduced themselves and how, on that same evening, she remembered everything.

"When did this happen to you?"

"A year ago."

She had known for a year and she made no attempt to contact him.

"Why didn't you try to find me?"

"I didn't want to," Guinevere admitted softly. "I wasn't happy at being found by Merlin and Morgana, but knowing that you were not with them gave me some measure of peace."

Arthur was taken aback. She didn't know that they worked for him.

"I would have looked for you, Guinevere."

"I know," she said as she nodded. "But if you had, I would have done my best to stay as far away from you as I could."

His eyes widened at that.

"Is your hatred of me so complete?"

She gave a small smile as she shook her head.

"No, Arthur."

He saw her take a deep breath before speaking again.

"Our lives will always be complicated," she looked at him with those sad eyes once again. "But maybe it becomes complicated because we keep finding each other."

"I love you." The words came out much more abruptly than Arthur wanted.

Guinevere closed her eyes for the briefest moment and when she opened them again, he saw the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

"Do you, Arthur? Do you really?

Arthur heard the anger in her voice.

"You love me until I do something to displease you. You love me only when it's convenient for you."

"Guinevere, I..."

She held up a hand to silence him.

"I never asked for anything from you, Arthur. Only that you be good and just and fair," she paused. It was clear that she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Please, Guinevere." He didn't know how else to reach her; how else he could break down her walls.

"I had such faith in you," she spoke again. There was a sad wistfulness to her voice; a broken quality to it that rent at his emotions.

"All those times," Guinevere continued. "All those times I looked to you for hope because you stood for what was right."

There were tears in her eyes.

"I never really understood why you chose me. The times when I was a king's daughter, maybe there was some reason there; but when I was nothing more than just a face in the crowd..."

Her voice trailed off and Arthur took his chance to speak.

"You always came first Guinevere," his voice cracked as he spoke. "Surely you must have known that."

"Is that why you left me to fester in a dungeon for a year?"

Her accusation felt like a blow to the stomach.

"Is that why you did nothing when they..." Arthur saw her gasp with remembered pain. "When they took advantage of my helplessness?"

He was silent.

"I trusted you with my life, Arthur."

He saw her shoulders slump and her head bow with grief, and once again, before him was a broken woman. Once again, he caused her misery. Once again, he hurt her.

"Is that why you left with Lancelot?" His accusation came out in a whisper as he brought out the only weapon he still wielded.

Guinevere's head snapped up and her eyes bored into his. Arthur held her gaze and willed himself not to flinch from the despair he saw in them.

"Lancelot..." she whispered. "You accuse me of betraying you even now?"

"You left me for him," Arthur's voice was even. "You left Camelot for him."

"Lancelot gave me a choice."

Her voice was steady now.

"Do you know how that feels, Arthur?" She asked him. "To be given a choice when I had so little before?"

He couldn't answer her.

"It was heaven, Arthur."

But the admission didn't bring a smile to her face. There was no relief in the lines of her body.

"I knew what would happen if you found me...if you found us. But I chose what Lancelot offered because it meant being free from your chains."

She looked steadily at him once more.

"I was never unfaithful. I left with him, yes, but we never lay together. Never once did I consider it," she took a deep breath before continuing. "But I knew you would put me to death. I knew that, even with your pronouncements of love, you would see me dead."

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"I chose my freedom over my life, Arthur," she spoke softly this time. "Because I couldn't bear to live with your hate anymore."

There was a pause. Arthur didn't know what to say. She spoke of hate—hate, when he would give her the moon if she should so ask. How could she mistake his feelings for hate?

"I love you," he said. "How could you even accuse me of hating you, Guinevere?"

"Would you still tell me you loved me after the next kidnapping? The next accusation of witchcraft? The continued whispers that I was someone beneath your station?"

She paused and wiped away the tears that now stained her cheeks.

"The hate was simmering beneath the surface, Arthur. I felt it many times even if you never spoke of it. One more false move from me would be a challenge to your power—and I learned long ago that if there was one thing you treasured above all others, it was your absolute rule over Camelot."

Her eyes bored into him once again.

"You would forsake everything but Camelot. We both know this." Her voice was controlled, but there was no mistaking her sadness. "You could never love anything more than your kingdom."

She pushed her chair back and began to stand up. Arthur was on his feet and beside her before she could.

It was then that Merlin and Morgana made their appearance.


	21. Chapter 21

**-21-**

Guinevere froze in her seat, her eyes traveling from warlock to witch to the man who stood mutely to her side, his hand still holding the back of her chair—whether to help her up or to prevent her from leaving, she didn't know.

And she didn't care. She was betrayed, once again.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Guinevere said, her tone bitter. "Disasters always come in threes."

She moved her chair back and stood up, taking note of how Merlin and Morgana stepped back but ignoring Arthur's extended hand. She wanted none of them near her.

"Your High..."

Merlin's greeting was cut short when Guinevere's hand shot up to quell him.

"You will not speak to me." Guinevere's words dripped with loathing. "You will not come near me."

Her eyes moved to Morgana.

"Or my family."

She saw the witch turn pale.

"I know, Morgana," her voice was dead calm. "And if you contact Elyan or my father, again, I will come after you."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"And this time, there will be no resurrection."

Guinevere smoothed her skirt, not bothering to hide the fact that she was trembling in anger.

"I trusted all of you," she continued in the same calm voice. "With my life, my safety, and my heart—all those times I gave what you asked of me and sought for nothing in return."

Her small hands were now bunched into fists at her sides.

"And that was precisely what I received. Nothing."

"You had a kingdom at your feet," Arthur countered softly. He knew that he had to do something—anything—to quell her anger.

"I had a kingdom that was suspicious of me, a court that acquiesced only when you nodded, friends who would betray me to further their interests, and a husband who never listened to anyone's counsel."

Her eyes slid to Merlin.

"Save one."

"Guinevere..." Arthur stretched out a hand to her.

"Even now, none of you could be honest with me. You," she indicated to Merlin and Morgana. " Said that I should ally myself with you because Albion would fall."

"You," this time to Arthur. "Declare love like it is something cheap and unimportant."

"You ask for forgiveness, for consideration; you call me 'Queen' when all the while this was something for your benefit. Never once have you asked me what I felt about all of this—or if whatever mercy I bestow would benefit me as well—only that my absolution would free _you_."

She spat out the last word.

"_You_," she whispered this time. "Once again, this is all about _you_. You, your throne, your powers, and your beloved Albion."

Guinevere's chest heaved her emotion as she spoke. Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana stood mutely, powerless in the knowledge that the Queen's words rang deep and true.

"I have had very little freedom since I met all of you," her eyes once again were boring into Arthur's, letting him know that he deserved the most anger. "And I tell you now, finally, that you will receive no forgiveness from me."

"No," Morgana's ragged voice broke the heavy silence after Guinevere spoke. "My Queen, we will perish."

"As you should."

Guinevere began to make her way to the doors that would take her out of Camelot. But as she neared them, she paused, turned around, and addressed the three once again.

"I may have relented had you been more truthful; that all you wanted was another chance. But all these years and you have learned nothing. You still believe that you only had to ask and I would give what you wanted. That my favor was yours for the taking."

She shook her head.

"Not anymore. If I am to be damned with these memories, then so be it. Let Albion fall, let the dust claim us all. You have killed me before, what is one more time?"

She looked again at the three who paled even further at her words.

"Love," to Arthur.

"Loyalty," to Merlin.

"Vengance," to Morgana.

"Where does that leave me?"

No answers came and it was just as she expected it.

"Maybe they were right, that I am the weakness of Camelot. I find no reason to change all of that now—especially now. But let me give you this comfort: I will not save myself, either."

Guinevere felt calmness wash over her and she turned on her heel, making her way to the front door. A member of Arthur's household staff was there, and she asked if a car was available to take her back to the city. A nod, the door was opened, and she was ushered into a vehicle.

The drive back to her flat was quiet; words between her and the uniformed driver were exchanged only as she exited the car. She went into her flat and locked her doors, bolting it securely behind her. Arthur's temper had always been violent and there was the chance that he would unleash it tonight.

It was only after she was inside the safety of her home that she allowed the tears to fall. Hot and uncontrollable, they spilled onto her cheeks as she sobbed. She had clung to the desperate hope that this time would be different, that her savior would come. That Arthur would fight to keep her safe.

But she was wrong. Once again, she had to be her own salvation.


	22. Chapter 22

**-22-**

Morgana fell to her knees as soon as Guinevere walked out through the doors. Sobs wracked her frame as she buried her face in her hands.

"Morgana," Merlin's voice was gentle as he put his arms around her shoulders.

He could offer no words of comfort; all he could do was hold his friend and hope that her tears would stop. Truth be told, he was on the verge of panic as well. Guinevere's words were chilling.

_"You will receive no forgiveness from me."_

What have they done?

If he had fought harder for Guinevere; if he had stood by the queen as solidly as he supported Arthur, would this be happening right now? He thought back to the days when he had power, Guinevere had so few on her side then. Arthur's faith in her had waxed and waned, and his own loyalty to her had shifted for reasons he could not even remember anymore.

Her defense had been left to one knight: Galahad. The Knight most loyal to the Queen. Ironic considering that he was Lancelot's son, but the young knight had picked up every thrown gauntlet that challenged his Lady.

He was the one who stood by her funeral pyre and guarded her ashes.

Merlin held Morgana and waited until she stopped trembling before helping her to stand up. It was only then that he turned to look at Arthur. The king was sitting on one of the chairs, his head was bowed and both hands were holding his head.

It was the posture of a man who was utterly at a loss at what to do. Arthur could command men to battle no matter the time and age, but here, right now, he was defeated.

"Arthur?" He said, calling the man by his first name. "Let me just take Morgana to her room..."

His voice faded as Arthur raised his head to look at him. His eyes were red from the tears that he had silently shed, but there was a haunted, hollow look to them that shook Merlin to his core. He had only seen Arthur look this way one other time before: when he realized that it was too late to take back Guinevere's death sentence.

"Go," Arthur said. "Take care of her."

Merlin nodded and led Morgana to her room. No words were exchanged between them but Merlin knew what she was thinking: that this was their fault.

"Merlin," Morgana said as soon as she was on her bed. "Is it the end?"

"I don't know."

There was a pause as Morgana tried to suppress her sobs.

"I did this, you know," her voice was soft. "I turned her against all of us."

Merlin couldn't answer; he knew he was equally to blame.

"We have to put things right," Morgana's voice was steady, and he could hear the strength behind her sentiments. "We have to try."

"For whose sake, Morgana?"

Morgana looked at Merlin.

"For her," she turned her head and looked at the ceiling. "For all of us," she added softly and closed her eyes. "She must know she is not to blame."

Merlin waited until Morgana's breathing had evened before leaving her room. He made his way back to Arthur and found the king nursing a tumbler that was now half-full of something amber and potent.

"Isn't it too early for that?"

Arthur took another sip and with not even a word, threw the glass and the rest of its contents at one of the marble pillars. Merlin merely looked on as the tumbler shattered.

"What do I do now?" Arthur turned to look at him. "Tell me, Merlin, as you're the one who seems to have all the answers."

He stalked across the patio and stood in front of the wizard. The king's clenched fists told Merlin that he was barely controlling his temper.

"I've taken your advice blindly," Arthur's tone was mocking. "I turned against my own wife because of you!"

Merlin kept quiet. He remembered the king's anguish during the last hours before Guinevere's execution. He told Arthur that he could not be seen as a weak king, and Merlin had done nothing to save the queen's life. Guinevere's execution had all but killed Arthur's spirit and it didn't take long for his kingdom to fall as well.

"We all betrayed her," Merlin replied. His voice was soft. The hand he played in the queen's death weighed heavily on his conscience. Whatever her transgressions—imagined or real—she had served Camelot faithfully.

'Perhaps more faithfully than I ever did,' Merlin thought.

Arthur's fist came crashing down on a table, causing Merlin to jerk his head towards the direction of the noise.

Despair had replaced the anger on Arthur's face. He noticed that the king had to take several gasping breaths before speaking.

"I cannot live with her hate, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice on the verge of cracking. "I will not live without her."

He looked at the wizard.

"Tell me what to do," desperation colored the king's voice. "I need her..."

Merlin stood there and watched as Arthur, the Once and Future King, turn away, raking his hands through his hair, just as tears fell from his eyes. He stood there, helpless and mute, because for once, no answers came to him.


	23. Chapter 23

**-23-**

Morgana waited until she could no longer hear Merlin's footsteps. She had kept her eyes closed, wanting him to think that she had fallen asleep. But as silence covered her, she quickly got out of bed and made her way down the stairs. She had perfected silently slipping away over the past few weeks, the skill necessary to keep Merlin in the dark about her meetings with Elyan.

She hated having to lie to Merlin, especially after everything he had done for her, but the meetings with Elyan were necessary.

_'Well, not entirely,'_ Morgana thought to herself. It had started with her trying to get more information about Gwen, but against her better judgment, she began to like Elyan.

He wasn't the unsure man she had known throughout the ages. This Elyan was a force of nature. He was solid and strong, with the barest hint of the wildness that had made him so unpredictable in the past.

Their first few meetings were awkward. She was defensive and he was unyielding, but Elyan was a protector, and the moment he sensed Morgana's vulnerability, there was a palpable change in his behavior.

Morgana worked that to her advantage. At first there was no guilt—she was determined to save herself and Merlin—but Elyan's goodness and his love for Tom and Guinevere gnawed at Morgana's selfishness and she found herself genuinely interested in him.

Morgana had never entertained the thought of romance; at one point she may have been attracted to Merlin or one of the knights, but those feelings were always overshadowed by her deisre for power.

But this time, with Elyan—the brother of the woman whom she had tried, and succeeded, to destory in various ways throughout the ages—Morgana felt the stirrings of something more. Something beautiful; something that she had been orphaned of.

He made her feel needed, wanted, treasured.

And it was precisely these feelings that spurred her on in her mission to redeem the Queen of the accusations of the past. She would rid Guinevere of the stains on her person at the cost of her own power.

She made her way to the garage and took out the small car she used for personal errands. It was reliable and quiet, perfect for this little mission she was about to embark on.

She quickly made her way out the gates and sped down the roads that would take her to Elyan's home. He made it clear that she was welcome to visit anytime, and her heart nearly erupted in happiness when he spoke those words.

Soon enough, she was in front of Elyan's home. She parked the car, climbed out of the driver's seat, made her way up the steps, and began to knock on his door.

A short while later, the door opened and Elyan's smile greeted Morgana.

"Hello," he began but his brow furrowed when he saw how much she was trembling. He took her hand and led her inside his home. Morgana wrapped her arms around his neck as soon as Elyan closed the door behind them.

It was a while before she let go and even as she freed him from her embrace, she was glad that his arms were around her waist.

_'How different things have become,'_ she thought. _'I would never have considered Elyan before, but now I know of no better man.'_

Elyan murmured comfortingly to her, and the rumble of his voice soothed Morgana's nerves. When he finally looked into her eyes, she knew that hers mirrored the sort of peace she always felt when she was with him.

"Are you all right?" Elyan asked as he cupped her cheek. "Are you feeling better?"

Morgana drew a shaky breath, smiled, and then nodded her head.

"I am now."

"Come on," he took her hand and led her further into his flat. "I'll fix you some tea," his eyes assessed her slim frame. "And maybe something to eat. You're looking far too frail, Morgana."

She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.

They walked to the kitchen and Morgana was glad that here, with Elyan, she could find a little peace. She was glad that with this Elyan, she had haven where she could pretend—even for a little while—that she was normal and whole. Not some aberration whose soul was stained with spilt blood.

He made her sit at the counter, took her hands, and planted a soft kiss on each palm.

"You're safe here," he told her. His eyes searching hers as if he was willing her to believe him.

She nodded.

"I'm safe with you."

He smiled that brilliant smile of his and turned to put the kettle to boil. Just as he was reaching for the mugs, someone knocked on the door.

Elyan sighed.

"Stay here, okay?" He told her as he turned off the burner. "I'll be right back."

"I won't be going anywhere."

He cupped her cheek again and with a dip of his head, gave her a soft kiss. It was all the assurance Morgana needed and he left her with a smile.

She heard his muted conversation with whomever it was at the door. A short while later, she heard footsteps and knew that Elyan was on his way back to the kitchen.

She turned and flashed him her brightest smile, only to have it falter and vanish completely when he saw who was with him.

"Morgana, I believe you know my sister, Guinevere?"

Guinevere gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We've met before," the Queen said.


	24. Chapter 24

**-24-**

Guinevere stared at the Morgana who was growing paler under her scrutiny. She vaguely heard Elyan make introductions, she was completely focused on the last person she wanted consorting with her brother.

"...and as you are apparently, acquainted," Elyan said as he moved to stand beside Morgana. "I will leave you two together for a bit. I need to make a phone call."

It took all of Guinevere's self control not to rush at the witch and drag her away from Elyan. Her fingers itched to claw at Morgana, to give her the merest taste of how much pain she had caused her.

But this was not the time and her brother's home was most definitely not the place.

She looked on and watched as her brother pressed a kiss to Morgana's temple before walking back to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be back shortly," he said as he took his leave.

"Take your time," she smiled at her sibling. He may have been born before her in this time, but she could not seem to stop herself from feeling protective of Elyan. He had seen so much death and destruction when he was still in service that she strived to make his civilian life and peaceful as possible.

"Have a cuppa with Morgana? The kettle's already boiled."

Guinevere smiled again and turned to make sure that her brother was completely out of earshot before facing Morgana. It gave her satisfaction to see that the witch had not moved. She quite resembled a statue as she sat in the chair—pale, silent, and unmoving.

"Tea, Morgana?"

Guinevere moved to the stove, opening cabinets to get the things she would need to prepare the beverages.

"Yes, please." Morgana's voice came out in a whisper. "But, maybe I should prepare the tea..."

"I don't think so," Guinvere cut through the witch's sentence. "I don't trust you with anything I'm about to ingest."

Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sounds of tea preparation. When she was done, Guinevere brought the mugs over to the counter, setting one in front of Morgana. She took the chair beside the witch, taking pleasure in how the other woman became even more rigid in her seat.

"Don't worry," Guinevere's tone was cordial, but she felt anything but friendly. "Poisoning was a talent I never developed. And if I remember, potions were your specialty."

Morgana remained unmoving.

"How long have you been seeing Elyan?"

Guinevere saw Morgana gulp.

"Less than a month," was her whispered reply. "Gwen, I didn't plan this..."

"Does he know?" Guinevere stared at Morgana.

The witch shook her head, her eyes not daring to break from the Queen's gaze.

"Keep it that way," Guinevere's tone was final and Morgana made no protest.

They were quiet for a while. Guinevere held her cup and sipped from it, grateful for the comfort offered by its warmth. She looked at Morgana and saw her big eyes that seemed too full of fear. Guinevere sighed and put her cup back on the table.

"Why are you doing this Morgana?" She asked the witch. "Camelot hurt you, too."

Morgana bowed her head and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Because I want to save whatever soul I have left," she said.

"After all the lives you took, you still believe there is one inside you?

It took a while for Morgana to respond.

"You taught me hope, my Lady."

Even in her rage at her former mistress, Guinevere felt the stirrings of compassion. She had been wronged, too, Morgana. She stood up to Uther when he had left her to her fate at Heingist's hands; she challenged his authority when everyone feared his rage. Morgana had strength, power, influence—if only she hadn't let herself be swayed because of desperation.

"So many died at your hands, Morgana," Guinevere sighed. "There were so many good people who didn't deserve your cruelty; families who only wanted a peaceful life."

Morgana's body seemed to shrink further at Guinevere's words.

"The same people who adored you as their Lady..." disbelief colored Guinevere's words. "How could you have been so heartless?"

"I offer no explaination, my Lady," Morgana's voice was broken and Guinevere was sure that she was weeping. "Only my regret."

Guinevere paused, unsure whether she should voice her rebuttal.

"Oh, Morgana," she breathed. "Your magic gave you the ability to create miracles, how could you have thought that it was better to destroy lives?"

She shook her head.

"I was so in awe of you." Guinevere spoke sadly, remembering her past life. "You were so composed, so sure of yourself."

Morgana's head snapped up as she looked at the Queen.

"I felt so...diminished next to you," she smiled in remembrance. "Your approval meant the world to me."

Guinevere's eyes grew misty as she recalled the times she spent with the woman whom she secretly regarded as a sister.

"I was so lost when you were gone from us," she confessed. "I would wake up every day and pray, just pray, that you would return. But when you did..."

She looked at the witch.

"I should have seen it, Morgana," Guinevere's eyes were glassy with tears. "I should have done more. I should have tried to save you, to turn you from darkness."

"Guinevere..." Morgana's voice was thick with emotion.

"But you should have trusted us Morgana," the Queen spoke with force. "You should have had more faith in us. Maybe our fates could have been changed."

Guinevere stood from the chair.

"And now it's just too late."

Elyan came back and the stare between the two women was broken.

"Gwen?" He called to his sister. "I'm preparing something to eat, will you join us?"

It took little effort for Guinevere to school her features into normalcy-she has had a lot of time to perfect it.

"Not today, I'm afraid," she smiled at her brother. "It's Sunday."

Elyan closed the gap between them and enfolded her into a hug.

"Next Sunday, then?" He and Gwen spent so little time as it is.

"Maybe," Gwen gave a small laugh. "I'll check my schedule."

Elyan chortled as well.

"Always so busy," he said as they moved apart. "When will you ever go out and have a good time? I know this one guy..."

"No, Elyan," she said with a grin. "I'm committed to living out the rest of my days as a spinster—you know that."

Elyan moved to stand next to Morgana. He put his arm around the woman's shoulders and gathered her to his side.

It took all of Guinevere's strength not to pull them apart. _'Not my brother!'_ She wanted to scream.

Instead she smiled, gave her brother a wink and turned around to leave the apartment.

Her heart may be in tatters, but to see Elyan so happy after being so broken after he had come home from service made her heart soar. Everyone deserved love. Guinevere just wasn't sure that he should have found it with her murderer.


	25. Chapter 25

**-25-**

Galahad stood outside the modest flat. He leaned lightly against a wall; his shoulder on the stone facade, his face a mask of calmness. His hands however, gave away his emotions.

Alternating between flexing his fingers and rubbing his palms together, the knight's nerves were betrayed by his actions. He was anxious; not knowing how the Queen would react to seeing him there.

"Be careful," Kilgarrah had said. "She will not take kindly to being reminded of the memories attached with your presence."

His thoughts traveled back to that day in the coffee shop. How Kilgarrah had gently broken to him that he was a knight from ages past, brought to this time to protect a woman whose fate was lost.

"You're mistaken," Galahad told the older man. "What you're saying is impossible."

"And the dreams you've been having," Kilgarrah's odd yellow-green eyes bored into him. "Aren't they impossible, too?"

Galahad had said nothing.

"Tell me, young knight. The sword, doesn't the feel of it remain a ghost in your hand long after you've woken? The screams of the woman who burned, tell me, do you remember her words and she was engulfed in flames?"

_"Forgive me, my King..."_ Galahad's voice faded as his eyes widened. "But...these are dreams! These aren't real!"

"Six months of the same 'dream' night after night," Kilgarrah said slowly. "Do you still doubt my words, Galahad?"

He was speechles.

"You have a responsibility to the Queen, young knight. You were the most loyal to her, the champion when she was abandoned. The Queen is in peril again and you must guide her to her salvation."

"How?" Galahad said in a small voice.

"You will know tomorrow," the older man said with a smile. "For now, finish your work and then go home. Your duty will be known to you when you wake."

Galahad had gone home still puzzled about what Kilgarrah had said. He went to bed thinking about just what he meant by "duty" and just who the Queen was. But his dreams that evening were more than troubling—they were violent.

The beautiful woman who caught his attention in the coffee shop figured largely in his visions. He saw her walking beside a man who seemed to radiate power. She glowed with a faint silver light whenever she was near him—a beautiful compliment to the golden glow that surrounded the man.

Flashes of crimson—the color of cape, the standard held by an approaching group of men on horseback, the blood of an enemy as he tumbled, broken, to the ground—permeated his dream. Galahad saw a circular table that seated twenty men, all clad in chain mail, he saw a tall man whose eyes would flash gold during battle, and he saw a woman in royal purple falling to the floor, clutching a blanket bundle to her chest.

The visions shifted and he saw the same woman—her hands tied behind her—being brought up to a platform upon which a stake had been erected. He saw the slump of her shoulders, the defeat in her frame. He saw the tears streaking her flawless tawny cheeks, and Galahad's heart broke.

Even in his dream he wanted to rush to the woman's side, to free her from the rough rope that had turned her wrists raw and bloody. He wanted to take her away from the crowd of people who were chanting, calling for her execution.

Galahad saw the Queen—he was sure of this now—offer no resistance as she was bound to the stake. He heard her sob, but even that sounded dignified to his ears. And as the flames licked at her dress and blistered her skin, she raised her gaze to the balcony upon which two men stood: one pale and dark haired, the other tall, muscular, and golden. The golden haired man—the King—flinched when the woman said one last thing before the smoke rendered her unable to speak: "Forgive me, my Lord."

Galahad had jerked upright as he was wrenched from the memory. And here he was, days later, waiting for the Queen to make her appearance. He had seen her go inside her brother's apartment shortly after the witch. From that moment, he had been on guard, ready to break the door down and remove her from harm.

He was the knight most loyal to the Queen and neither time nor age would take that title away from him.

He waited until she was a good few feet away from him and began to follow her as she made her way to the coffee shop that she frequented. Galahad was careful not to be spotted and bided his time until the Queen was settled at her favorite table with her usual beverage.

He stepped into the shop, squared his shoulders and walked to the left of the Queen—his usual position. He stood there, just slightly behind her, until she took notice of him.

"Galahad."

She didn't turn her head but gave a slight nod, giving him permission to move forward and take the seat in front of her.

"My Lady," he said as he gave a small bow. This day and age may not have seen them in a throne room and her chair may not have been on a dais, but the woman before him was still regal and her presence still commanded his attention.

This woman was his Lady and Galahad knew that he would die to keep her safe.

"Should I be afraid, young Knight?" Guinevere's smile was kind and her tone was light. "You always make an appearance just as something tragic is about to happen to me."

"I'm sorry, my Lady," Galahad ducked his head and smiled as well. "If my presence implies that you are not safe."

Guinevere sipped her drink and regarded the young man before her.

"Your father..."

Galahad shook his head.

"Not in this lifetime, Your Highness. He and my mother died when I was a young boy."

He felt her soft fingers touch his hand.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Galahad gave a quick bow in gratitude. She had always been this way around him: gracious, maternal, forgiving. She was much more true to her nature than she when she was with the other Knights.

"I suppose..."

The rest of Galahad's sentence as he was yanked out of his seat.

"What the hell is this all about?"

The voice hissed out the question and it was clear who the other person was. Galahad put up his hands in a gesture of surrender and turned around slowly.

"Your Majesty," Galahad said, offering the man before him a bow. It looked odd given his hands were still up.

"Galahad," Arthur's expression was stunned and the knight had to force back a smile.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made both men turn to look at the woman who was now making her way out of the coffee shop.

Arthur made a move to follow her but Galahad knew that this was his only chance to talk to the King.

"Your Majesty," he called Arthur's attention. "Please do not follow the queen. Not yet."

A pair of blue eyes came to rest on the knight.

"You will know where to find her. But now is not the time for that."

Galahad put his hands down and gestured to the now-vacated table.

"Please, sire. We need to talk."

It was a long moment before Arthur gave a curt nod and sat down.

"Why are you here, Galahad?" He said as the young man took a chair.

Galahad took a deep breath before speaking.

"You must be with the Queen again, sire. Her soul depends upon it."


	26. Chapter 26

**-26-**

Merlin raced up the stairs as soon as Arthur stormed out of Camelot. He had come so dangerously close to becoming violent that Merlin actually had to use a whispered spell to force him to calm down.

Arthur's temper, while mercurial, was unleashed only by two things: a challenge to his rule, and the threat of violence against Guinevere. At that moment, Merlin wasn't sure that his regent could tell the difference.

He had been unable to provide an answer when Arthur asked him what he should do to get Guinevere back. Merlin saw the beginnings of a tirade from the king, but instead of lashing out at the warlock, he turned on his heel and left Camelot. Merlin had heard the crunch of gravel as Arthur's powerful car sped down the driveway.

He knew that the king would go in search for his Queen.

Merlin had sagged against a stone wall, relief, shame, and helplessness rendering him unable to move for a few moments. Collecting himself, the warlock made his way to Morgana's room, hoping that his friend would be able to help him figure out what to do.

"Mor..." Merlin's voice faded as soon as he saw that her bed was empty. A shouted curse later and he was soon he was the one peeling out of the driveway to search for the witch.

He knew of only two places where she would go: the Pendragon offices, where, because of her status in the corporate hierarchy, her presence would not be questioned, or Elyan's house. Morgana had taken great care to not be found out, but it would have been careless of Merlin not to keep track of Morgana's just as he knew that she kept a very close eye on him.

As it was a Sunday, there was very little vehicular traffic and Merlin soon found himself driving down the road that would take him to the steel and glass building that housed Pendragon Industries. It took little time for him to park his car and soon he was in an elevator that was speeding up the floors, taking him to the one where his and Morgana's offices were located.

Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps, but even if he had stomped down the hall, Merlin doubted if he would have caused much disturbance. The floor was empty, save for the weekend cleaning service that must be somewhere down the other end of the office.

He walked quickly to Morgana's office and frowned when he noticed that the door was partly ajar. It wasn't like Morgana to be careless with her privacy. Merlin gathered a spell in his head, ready to go on the defensive against whatever it was that was inside.

"Don't bother, young warlock," a deep voice called from within Morgana's office. "There is no one here who wishes you any harm."

Merlin closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and opened the door. Sitting behind Morgana's desk, his long fingers steepled in front of him, was a being Merlin thought he would never see again.

"Kilgarrah," the wizard said. The word a greeting as much as an acknowledgement of the dragon's presence.

"It has been a while, Merlin."

Kilgarrah stood up and Merlin saw that the Great Dragon was wearing a suit of some gray-green material that mimicked reptilian skin. Merlin grinned at this.

"Nice suit."

"Thank you, Merlin," Kilgarrah returned the smile. "I am rather fond of it."

Kilgarrah walked around the desk and stood in front of the wizard. He put his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels a few times.

"Speak, young wizard."

"I'm hardly a child, Kilgarrah."

"Ah, but I am still older than you, Merlin."

Kilgarrah sat down in one of the chairs fronting the desk and gestured that the other man do the same. Merlin sat and the two regarded each other for a long moment. It unnerved Merlin that the dragon was here, it meant that a painful lesson was about to be learned.

"How are you Merlin?" Kilgarrah's tone was soft, almost paternal, and Merlin felt his shoulders droop. It had been ages since he could confide in someone this way.

"I've failed," Merlin's tone was that of a man defeated. "There is no other way to say it, Kilgarrah. I have failed the Queen."

The dragon took a while to answer. The look he gave the man before him was one of great sorrow, but now was not the time to acquiesce to defeat.

"The fate you dealt the Queen is irreperable, wizard," Kilgarrah said. "There is no turning back from this..."

Anger began to bubble in Merlin.

"Don't you think I know..."

Kilgarrah put a hand up, effectively halting the beginnings of a tirade.

"But that is not to say that she will not be able to move forward."

Merlin was stunned. Surely Kilgarrah didn't mean...

"But...," Merlin said. "This is the end of our days."

"Only if the Queen decrees it, young wizard. But if she relents, if she forgives, then your souls are saved."

Merlin remembered Guinevere's anger that morning and looked at Kilgarrah.

"What of her reward?"

Kilgarrah smiles at Merlin's question.

"I see she has spoken to you."

Merlin nodded and the dragon sat back in his chair, an amused expression his face but it is hard to mistake the intensity in his eyes.

"The Queen's fate was altered the moment your hand played in her execution and you sent her to the pyre. You should have saved her, Merlin, and when you failed to do that, you didn't just damn her for eternity, you damned yourself as well."

Merlin's head bowed and he could not prevent the ragged breath that escaped her lips.

"Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself, Merlin!"

Kilgarrah's angry voice made him raise his head.

"You have failed to listen to me time and time again, when one simple action from you could have prevented all of this!"

"You would have me kill Morgana?"

"Some kinds of magic deserve to die, wizard," the dragon's tone was unforgiving. "How many have died by your decree? _By your good king's edict?_"

Merlin was silent.

Kilgarrah's eyes softened at Merlin's despair but he had to let him see the gravity of his past actions.

"I have come here, now, to let you know that it is the Queen whom you should have guarded. It is her whom you should have protected, wizard. As Arthur's fate was intertwined was yours, she played an equal hand in his legacy."

The wizard's eyes widened at this revelation.

"And it was my mistake to think that you would see the connection," the dragon expelled a great breath. "You have always been blinded by Arthur. So involved in his destiny that you failed to see what else was going on around you."

"And you are here to correct that?" Merlin asked.

Kilgarrah nodded. "Because you were incapable of doing it yourself."

A moment of silence stretched between them as the truth of Kilgarrah's words burned into Merlin's conscience until he wanted to rip at his skin if only to rid himself of the pain.

"I am here for the Queen," the older man said simply. "It is her salvation that matters to me. She cannot live out the rest of time being vilified this way. She does not deserve this eternal punishment."

"The rest of time?" Merlin was shocked. "But...how? Will she not perish with us?"

"I cannot change the past, young wizard," Kilgarrah's tone became guarded again. "I cannot change what has already been set. But you and I both know that death, to us, is relative."

KIilgarrah allowed himself a small smile.

"Look at us, now," he gestured to both of them. "How many lifetimes have we lived?"

"If you cannot change the past," Merlin was confused now. "Then how will we...not die?"

"There are spells that erase memories of the past, wizard. Spells that are put in motion by deeds."

"You will make Guinevere forget?"

"How else do I free her from the chains of her past?" Kilgarrah raised an eyebrow. "What you, Arthur, and the witch have done—there is no forgiving that. The remembrance of that will punish the Queen forever."

The dragon's eyes drilled into Merlin.

"The spell will free her from her past—the one thing she has always wanted."

"Freedom from Arthur, from Morgana, and myself."

The dragon tapped the side of his nose, indicating that Merlin was correct.

"How...far will your spell reach?"

"Ah!" Kilgarrah's tone was pleased. "I was wondering when you would ask that."

He rubbed his hands together and the smell of smoke filled the air.

"I appologize, wizard," his tone was sheepish. "This body may make me look human, but deep inside, I am still the fire-breathing being I always have been."

Kilgarrah then blew a smoke circle in the air.

"See?"

Merlin was unable to stop from chuckling.

"Yes, I see."

Kilgarrah cleared his throat and turned serious once more.

"There are...repercussions to this, of course," the dragon said, looking intently at Merlin once again. "The use of magic is never without consequences."

Merlin nodded.

"And what payment do we make?" He asked Kilgarrah.

"The moment the spell is set, Arthur will remember none of this as well."

"None of it?"

Kilgarrah shook his head.

"Remembrance will make him afraid; too cautious around the Queen. He will handle her with kid gloves, worried about the false move that will break her. His fear will drive his queen away."

"So we will let him make mistakes once again?"

"Yes, in a way. But whatever transgressions he will make will be his alone, not influenced by his past.'

Merlin's mind focused on something the dragon said.

"Kilgarrah, you said that Arthur's fear will drive the queen away..."

The dragon's smile was kind.

"They are two halves, wizard. More than their hearts, their souls are intertwined. Punish one and you hurt the other. "

Merlin remembered Arthur's despair at Guinevere's death; how he had seen the king point the tip of Excalibur to his own throat the evening before the execution...and several times after that.

"So, they will be together? In this lifetime?"

"Only the Queen can decide that. If she forgives, then yes."

"But if she doesn't?"

Kilgarrah gave the wizard a sad smile.

"They will remember each other a little less every day," the dragon explained. "The hole in their hearts will grow larger as the days pass and it will never be filled. They will suffer and never know how they can solve it."

"I cannot allow that to happen!" Merlin exclaimed. "I will no longer stand idly by and watch Guinevere suffer!"

"After all I've told you, wizard, do you think I will not make sure that they will not be apart?"

Merlin nodded, the knot in his chest loosening for the first time in what felt like forever. But there were still questions to be asked.

"What of Morgana?"

"The witch," Kilgarrah's tone turned rough once more, losing the kindness that was present when he spoke to Merlin.

"Why you choose to ally with her, Emrys, is beyond understanding."

"She has made amends..."

"Not enough!"

A pause, and then Merlin spoke again.

"What of Morgana?"

"She will be without power and she will forget as well."

Merlin was stunned. A powerless Morgana was incomprehensible.

"Absolutely without power?"

Kilgarrah nodded.

"I do not see her completely turning away from darkness, wizard," he said. "In this lifetime, at least, I have the chance to offer her some peace."

Merlin nodded. As good as his relationship with Morgana was, he had always had the same fear. That kind of anger cannot be kept hidden forever.

"Will you not ask of your fate, Emrys?"

"Can I prevent you from telling me?"

Kilgarrah chuckled.

"I suppose not," his amused eyes turned serious as they met Merlin's. "Your punishment is remembrance, Emrys."

"How much of it?"

"All of it," the dragon's eyes were sad now. "I cannot absolve you of these memories, the role you played...the scars run too deep."

Merlin noded. It was a huge price to pay, but as it would give the people he cared for the most the peace they deserved, he supposed to forfeit ignorance was worth it.

He looked at Kilgarrah again.

"How does the spell work?"

"The Queen must forgive," the dragon said simply. "Her heart must wish for nothing but peace."

"That may not happen," Merlin said. "She loathes us."

"I do not blame her, but there is always hope," Kilgarrah said softly. "And despite everything Merlin, we have to hold on to that."

The dragon met the wizard's eyes.

"It is not in the Queen's nature to be cruel, but you must not influence her decision. It is her favor to give and you must accept what favor she bestows."

"But you just said that they will be together," Merlin was getting desperate again. "That they will find each other."

"Forgiveness is not an easy thing, wizard, especially when you are the victim of another person's game."

Kilgarrah's eyes bored into Merlin, yellow meeting blue.

"One other person will help her see what her heart already knows."

The door to Morgana's office opened and in walked a young man—dark hair, bright green eyes, and with a confident stride.

Galahad.

Behind him was a man who, but moments ago, looked like he was ready to battle the hounds of hell.

"King Pendragon," Kilgarrah drawled. "Won't you please join us?"


	27. Chapter 27

**-27-**

Arthur goggled at the man before him. Tall and sparse, but with a shock of white hair that made him look like he had somehow stuck a finger in a live socket. The gray-green suit did little to comfort his confused thoughts.

"He will be able to help you, Sire," Galahad had assured him.

Arthur walked further into the room, not without a thread of hesitation running through him. Although he still had his misgivings about the use of magic, it had taken him little time to grow accustomed to magical beings. But the person before him—if he was human—radiated power that not even Merlin could equal.

A low laugh rumbled through the old man and Arthur swore he felt it in his bones. Only one other being had been able to do that.

"Great Dragon," he breathed. Relief washed through him when he realized that the creature before him was an ally.

Arthur was not too proud to admit that he was in need of more of those on his side.

"King Pendragon," the creature said in greeting. "Your light is missing, Arthur. Pray, what causes it to be so?"

"Guinevere," Arthur choked out, his throat constricting from the pain of saying her name.

"Ah," Kilgarrah said and somehow Arthur knew that the dragon knew everything that had happened between the two of them.

"If you could extend any help," the king said haltingly. "Any at all, I would be most grateful."

The dragon regarded the man in front of him, an unreadable expression of his wizened face.

"The years have not been kind to you, Pendragon. Your light is gone."

Kilgarrah gave a rueful smile.

"Of course, it was present only when you were with the Queen."

Arthur bowed his head. Guinevere's rejection of him hurt deeper than he could ever have imagined; he knew that there was very little chance of her wanting to see him again. But Arthur also knew that this meeting with Kilgarrah was not for his benefit.

"What is this meeting all about?" He asked wearily, his eyes still on the floor. He wasn't in the right frame of mind for riddles and parables. He may not have nightmares and headaches anymore, but the two weeks of knowing about Guinevere and not being with her were weighing down on him.

Arthur raised his head and was stunned. No longer were they in Morgana's office, the room he was in was bigger, it's walls lined with books. A large table that could comfortably seat twenty people was located clear to one side. On the surface were rolls of parchment, stacks of notebooks, and piles upon piles of books.

He felt dizzy; had he missed something? He had bowed his head for a moment—just a moment, he was certain of it—how had he come to find himself here?

"My apologies, Pendragon," the dragon's voice rang through the massive room. "I needed to travel quickly. Magic was the only way I could get us here with little effort."

"Where exactly is...here?" Arthur asked slowly, not altogether sure that he wanted to get an honest answer.

"Just a few miles out of the city," Kilgarrah walked to the bookshelf closest to them and pulled out a few volumes. The elder man then put them on top of the table, adding to the already large collection of books that littered the surface.

"This is my home, Arthur, and don't worry, you are quite safe here." The dragon's voice was kind but his tone did nothing to calm Arthur's nerves. As many lifetimes as he lived, he could never be completely at ease about magic. It had destroyed too many lives—and it had cost him the love of the person he valued above all.

"Don't look distraught young Pendragon," Kilgarrah said. "After all, didn't she once tell you that there is always hope?"

The dragon had read his mind.

"Is there hope?" Arthur hedged the question, not knowing how Kilgarrah was going to answer.

There was silence in the room as none of the room's four occupants said a word.

The dragon sighed and opened a few of the books laid out on the table.

"We," he gestured to himself, Merlin, Galahad, and Arthur. "We've lived through the ages in stories and in lore. Look at these books—they carry our stories. Our lives."

The other men moved closer to the table.

"This time thinks of these as made up stories of people who are just as fictional," Kilgarrah's tone was sad. "What they don't realize is that each of these stories is a life we've led, a lifetime we've lived."

"We've been living for a very long time," Galahad's voice was quiet, as if the truth just dawned on him at that very moment.

"In each lifetime, there are two things that have remained constant, young Pendragon," Kilgarrah turned his eyes on Arthur. "You and the Queen."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. His dreams about the past showed him scenes and images but offered no explanations. He remembered them all, but he never realized that it had gone so far.

"Yes, Arthur," Kilgarrah was speaking again. "There was a time when Merlin wasn't by your side, but the Queen...she has always been there."

"Why do I not remember that?" Arthur was baffled. "How can I not know this?"

He turned to Merlin who looked just as bewildered as he.

"Does it matter now?" Kilgarrah's question was kind, and Arthur realized that, no, he did not care to find out why..

"It doesn't," Arthur admitted. "Not anymore."

There was a pause before Kilgarrah spoke again.

"Will you not ask why you are here, Pendragon?"

Arthur was taken aback. His shock at learning about his past lives briefly blanked him from all thought. He looked at the dragon and nodded.

"Think back on your lives, Arthur," Kilgarrah prompted softly. "Remember when you were strongest, remember who was beside you."

Arthur stood silent, trying to recall his dreams. His brow furrowed in concentration but all he kept seeing in his mind were flashes of a castle, strong and proud against a clear blue sky.

"Close your eyes," Merlin bade in a small voice. "Don't let your vision be clouded. Think, Arthur."

Arthur closed his eyes and listened to Kilgarrah's voice.

"Remember, young Pendragon, who gave you your strength."

Arthur's mind swam with images of a former him riding out to battle, to challenge a foe that was just as strong as he was. He remembered looking back and seeing a figure high upon the castle's stone parapets. He wasn't so far away that he could not make out that the figure was that of a woman clad in a gown of scarlet and gold—the colors of the standard held by one of his knights.

He recalled having called his men to halt and turn back to face the castle. The thunder of hooves paused and the knights and soldiers did just that.

Arthur saw himself draw his sword and raise it to the sky. Steel and gold glinted in the sunlight as Excalibur caught its rays.

"For the love of Camelot!" He shouted and his men did the same.

"Long live the Queen!"

A cheer, a shouted echo of his words, and then he heard himself whisper, "For you, my love."

Arthur's eyes sprang open and saw that three other pairs were looking at him.

"You see, Arthur," Kilgarrah began. "You were only brave when your Queen was beside you. Camelot was only as strong as when she held it in her hands."

Tears pooled in Arthur's eyes and he was grateful when Merlin and Galahad discreetly looked away.

"You fought blindly for a stone fortress, for a throne that should have been burned to the ground, when you should have defended your heart."

Arthur's chest constricted as realization dawned upon him.

"Guinevere is more than your wife. She is your humanity, young Pendragon; she anchors your legacy."

Dragon and King looked at each other, blue eyes meeting amber.

"You existed for centuries without a wizard, but you never lived until Guinevere was beside you."

Movement from Galahad drew Arthur's attention to the young knight.

"You cannot erase the past, Sire," the knight said softly. "But you can affect the present. And I would not my Lady suffer any more."

A steely glint came into the young man's eyes.

"Do not mistake, my lord. I will take her away should you fail."

"I..," Arthur was nearly unable to speak, "I do not deserve her forgiveness and she will not give me her love."

A hand slammed against the table and Arthur turned to see Merlin's eyes flash gold in anger.

"Do you not understand, Arthur?" The wizard's voice was angry. "This mission is not for you, it is for her! We have been killing her for centuries, defiling her memory so that she is blamed for the fall of a kingdom she loved and served more faithfully than any of us!"

Merlin took a deep breath.

"Whether she will forgive is something only she can decide," he said. "But will you waste the last of your lifetimes feeling sorry for yourself when it is she you have committed yourself to? Do not forget your promise!"

"Do you love her so little, sire?" Galahad spoke again, his voice gentle. "That you would forsake her redemption so that you receive the glory?"

"And what if I don't succeed?" Arthur asked his question softly.

A sad look crept into Merlin's eyes as he looked at his friend.

"Arthur," he said, calling the King's attention. "You will forget her slowly, as she will you. You will both be drowned with sadness and not know how to fill the emptiness in you."

There were tears in Merlin's eyes as he continued. For all his power, he did not know how to free his friends from this pain.

"I thought that death was to be part of it?"

"This is what boggles me about men—so quick to choose death," Kilgarrah's tone was exasperated. "You will live out the rest of your days without the person who will make you the happiest—surely that is a fate worse than the end of your mortal life?

Arthur nearly forgot how to breathe. To live without Guinevere—to never hold her, touch her; to never see her smile or hear her voice—was not a life. He closed his eyes and tried to tamp down his fear.

"But to answer your question, yes, you will die, with your loss, and never be born again."

"And Albion?"

"My Lord," Galahad's reproving voice answered this time. "Do you not understand? Your legacy was never to be forged in stone; it lay neither with land nor property. Your legacy is made immortal with the Queen. Guinevere is Albion."

Arthur's head swam with their words until Kilgarrah spoke again.

"Redeem her name, Pendragon, and you will know what salvation really is."

Arthur blinked and as he opened his eyes, he saw that he was once again back in Morgana's office—only this time he was alone. Merlin, Kilgarrah, and Galahad were gone.

Arthur took a deep breath and withdrew the gold band he had kept in his pocket for the past two weeks, a reminder of the love he promised Guinevere long ago. A reminder that he was once the most fortunate man on earth.

He held the ring in his hand before slipping it back into the pocket of his trousers. He looked at his watch, it was still early in the day and he knew where he would find Guinevere.

He prayed for strength, hoping that she would hear him out one last time.


	28. Chapter 28

**-28-**

Galahad looked at the spot where Arthur stood only a few moments before.

"You did well, Galahad."

The knight looked at Kilgarrah and gave a rueful smile.

"It does not feel that way," the young man told the dragon.

"Your thoughts are with your Lady," Kilgarrah said. A statement, not a question.

"Always" was Galahad's simple reply.

Kilgarrah looked at the young knight and took in his tense stance. It would not be easy to ease his mind; he had seen the worst of his King and knew how the Queen was often overlooked.

"Guinevere's heart is pure," Merlin's voice broke through the silence. "She will always know what to do."

"Forgive me if I do not take kindly to your advice, wizard," Galahad's tone was mocking. "As you have not always come to the Queen's defense."

No words came from Merlin. While angry at the knight's words, he could not fault him for what was said. Galahad was the Knight most loyal to the Queen and, in the end, he was the one most faithful to is word.

His devotion to Guinevere had never been in question.

"My failing was in protecting Arthur too much," Merlin said sadly. "For believing that everything else could fall to the wayside as long as he sat upon the throne."

He looked at the knight whose anger was etched in every line of his body.

"You are wise to feel distrust, Galahad," Merlin sought to assure him. "But I have learned that Arthur's reign was worthless without Guinevere."

The wizard looked to the Dragon who was observing the exchange between the two men.

"What is it about men that they mistake a statue on a stone plinth as proof of a legacy?" The dragon shook his gray head. "You speak—at length, I may add—about love and how it warms a man during the coldest of winters, yet you forsake your pronouncements for a throne and a crown."

Merlin put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and bowed his head.

He had once fought for Arthur and Guinevere to be together; stayed by the Queen's side when an arrow had felled her, guarding her against all who would do her harm. Once, she had been his defender as well, how could he have turned against her goodness? How could he have failed to recognize her rightful place in Camelot?

"Galahad, I am proud of you," Kilgarrah's voice broke through Merlin's reverie. "You have served your Queen well."

A sad look crept over the knight's face.

"I should have done more," his wistful voice revealed his regret. "I should have made her see how broken her marriage was making her."

Galahad raked a hand through his hair. Too many regrets were washing over him.

"My vow to her should have overruled my vow to Camelot."

"Arthur would never have allowed that," Merlin said softly.

"And look where your king is now," Galahad said slowly, his tone dangerously bordering on rage. "On his knees and begging for forgiveness."

He turned to face Merlin.

"You should be with him, wizard." He spat out the last word.

"That is enough," the dragon's quiet reprimand broke the tension between the two men.

"Our responsibilities do not end here," Kilgarrah said, looking from Merlin, whose eyes were slowly lightening to gold, to Galahad, whose stance declared that he would not back down from a challenge.

"The queen was betrayed by those who have sworn to protect her. Arthur will have to fight for her—not woo, not endear himself—he will have to fight."

Kilagarrah took his place between the two men, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

"Galahad, you and I must be ready to receive the Queen should Arthur fail."

The Knight nodded.

"And Merlin, your task lies in keeping Arthur sane," the dragon's voice was grave. "He will never be whole without Guinevere."

Merlin bowed his head, acknowledging his part in this plan. It was a task he did not look forward to performing, but this was the price they all had to pay for betraying a pure heart.

Kilgarrah moved once again to the table. With a wave of his hand, the books and parchments disappeared and instead, three rather comfortable looking armchairs were positioned close to one end.

"Sit," he instructed the two men.

Merlin and Galahad eyed each other wearily, but took to their seats.

"What do we do now?" The Knight asked after a long pause.

Kilgarrah steepled his fingers and looked over them to the young man whose shoulders betrayed his tension.

"We wait."


	29. Chapter 29

**-29-**

"How long have you known my sister?"

Elyan was sitting with Morgana at his modest dining table, the remains of breakfast still on the surface.

He looked at Morgana as she tilted her head and tried to avoid his gaze. Elyan's guard was up; he felt the tension between her and Gwen the minute they were in the same room.

"We...met a long time ago," Morgana said as she moved to tuck a long strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"From University?" He took a sip from his cup of tea and waited for Morgana to answer.

"Not from University."

Elyan could see the discomfort in the woman in front of him. He was smitten with Morgana, that was evident, but something about her manner was off every time he spoke about his family or whenever he would ask about her position in the Pendragon heirarchy.

Morgana fell quiet and Elyan sighed. She wasn't going to give the answers he wanted to hear, but he would be damned if he was not going to protect his sister.

"What happened between you and Guinevere, Morgana?"

"What do you mean?"

Morgana asked the question haltingly, making Elyan narrow his eyes in suspicion.

What was she hiding?

"Morgana," Elyan began and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're tense. You've been this way since Guinevere walked through the door."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, how it trembled and he held it wasn't lost on him.

"Gwen is the most...serene person I know. Nothing fazes her—nothing. So, tell me why she walks on eggshells when she is around you and why are you so afraid of her?"

He raised Morgana's hands to his lips and pressed her palm to his face as he gazed into her eyes.

"Why are you so sad, Morgana?" He asked calmly. "And how can I save you from your sadness?"

A sob broke from Morgana's lips as she stood from her seat, walked around the table, and sat in Elyan's lap. That he offered no protest as she did so must have eased her emotions because she melted into him, burying her face in his neck as he held her and rubbed circles into her back.

It took a while for Morgana to calm down and Elyan patiently waited for her breathing to even; until her slim frame ceased its trembling.

When she finally raised her head to look at him, her eyes were red and he saw the traces of tears that stained her cheeks. She may not have spoken a word, but it was clear to Elyan that what happened, or may still be happening, between the two women was neither simple nor new. He understood that much.

"Guinevere," Morgana's voice trembled as she spoke the name. "Guinevere and I have a history."

She pushed her hair out of her face and looked squarely at Elyan, as if she wanted to see how he would react to her confession.

"I wasn't the kindest person to her," Morgana continued. "My actions...they were quite cruel."

Elyan's expression tightened. He was not altogether sure that he wanted to hear whatever Morgana was about to disclose.

"And she has never forgiven you." Elyan finished Morgana's confession.

She nodded and Elyan felt himself at a loss.

"Should she?" It was a question he made out of fear.

A pause.

"I don't know," Morgana answered.

Elyan knew that schoolyard hurts were sometimes carried over to adulthood but his senses told him that whatever happened between Gwen and Morgana were beyond pulled pigtails and skinned knees.

Elyan took Morgana's hands in his once again and looked into her eyes.

"Don't be afraid of me, Morgana," he says softly. "I asked you a question and you answered truthfully. What you told me does little to ease my mind, but I can feel how difficult it was for you to even acknowledge what you feel."

He framed Morgana's face in his hands and brushed at the tears that still lingered in the corners of her eyes.

"I love you," he said and he saw Morgana's lips tremble. "And I will not see you hurt."

He put his lips on hers softly, slowly, wanting to comfort the woman in his arms. She all but melted into his kiss. For all her bravado and icy exterior, Morgana was more vulnerable than anyone he had ever met.

Elyan drew slowly away from the kiss, loving how Morgana protested their separation. But there was another thing to discuss, and it had to be done before anything more was to happen between them.

"I love you, but I love my sister, too," Elyan's voice was firm, serious, letting Morgana know that he took his vow to protect his younger sibling with death seriousness.

"And her safety is foremost to me."

Silence stretched between them, and an unspoken understanding was forged: Guinevere trumps everyone else.

"As it should be," Morgana said softly.

Elyan was surprised, but he saw the smile that bowed Morgana's lips and somehow, he could not explain it, his heart calmed.

"Gwen is the kindest person I know," he spoke again. "I do not know what...hurt you dealt her, but I know that she will want the best for you, too."

He smoothed Morgana's hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her softly again.

"Have faith, Morgana," he whispered against her lips. "And do not give up on her."

Unbeknownst to Elyan, Morgana's heart sang at his words. She knew of Guinevere's capacity to love and forgive. And no matter how long it took, and no matter what it cost her, she would work to win her Queen's favor once again.

The dragon had explained what she had to forfeit to pay for her redemption, and Morgana had agreed a long time ago that it was worth it.

Powerless and with no memory of her past, Morgana would be human.

To any magical being, that would be a fate worse than death, but to Morgana, it would be more than life. It would be more than peace. It would be salvation.


	30. Chapter 30

**-30-**

Guinevere paced her floor of her apartment; the emotions brought about by that morning still a knot in her chest. She walked around her living room, hoping to wind herself into exhaustion.

_'If I walk long enough,'_ she reasoned. _'My body will crave rest. Sleep will allow me some peace—somehow.'_

She repeated the words in her head. She knew that her sleep would be plagued with images and remembrances of the past, but she knew those memories would not have the power to hurt her. They were from ages long forgotten, never to touch her again. What she wanted was escape from this age.

From this Arthur.

It had been difficult to walk away from him the moment he declared his love. For all the punishment she received in all the past lives they've shared, her heart still sang every time Arthur said her name.

There would always be great love between them, but she knew that she would pay dearly if she succumbed to his spell in this time.

But it hurt, oh, how it did hurt, to know that she would never feel his embrace again.

She had spent a year knowing who she had been—who she is now—without Arthur by her side. She was aware of his presence, of course, the Pendragon name still rang with power and authority, but she had taken care to be as far away from his influence as she could.

In the end, it had all been in vain, he still found her. And soon, he knew about her.

She paused in the middle of her pacing and stood in the center of her living room. Her heart hammered in her chest when she realized that they could never be together. Guinevere closed her eyes and tried to imagine her life without Arthur.

It would mean a life free of persecution; a lifetime free of what would start off as deep passion and morph into something twisted and dark. She could not allow herself to live like that any longer. She wanted a love that would never be jealous or suspicious. She deserved that, didn't she?

But all she felt was a deep, gaping emptiness.

She would never feel his kiss, his skin against hers. She would never hear his voice or know how it felt to wake up in his arms. The thought of living her life without Arthur was a pain she wasn't certain she could bear. The realization suddenly bore down on her and she fell to her knees.

For how long she sat there with her arms around herself, Guinevere could not tell, but as she raised her head at the sound of knocking on her door, she saw that the sun's rays had slanted across her floor, telling her that significant time had passed.

She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw that it was Arthur on the other side. As if alerted by her presence, Arthur stepped closer to the door and spoke clearly, his voice reaching her easily through the wooden divider.

"Please let me in, Guinevere."

The sadness in his voice broke something in her and against her better judgment, Guinevere opened the door and saw the man who now stood in front of her.

His clothes were still immaculate, but his hair was slightly disheveled as it he'd run his fingers through them more than once. But it was his eyes that made Guinevere gasp.

He had never seen them so pained.

She sagged against the door as her breath came in short gasps. She could never bear to see him hurt, that had been her failing. She lost so much of herself because she wanted him happy.

She straightened and gave him permission to enter. He came inside, closed the door softly behind him, and stood right there. Guinevere positioned herself in the middle of the living room, far away for him to reach. The air was electric with emotions and things unsaid. As if to seek protection from a mortal blow, she wrapped her arms around herself, steeling her emotions for whatever was to come.

"Why are you here?"

Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. He was quiet for so long that Guinevere asked him the question again.

"Arthur, why are you here?"

He looked at her and once again, Guinevere saw the pain in his eyes. But she would not give in. He had hurt her, too, terribly, in every lifetime. He had not borne any guilt, while she lived with lifetimes of condemnation.

She was important, too.

"I accept your hate, Guinevere," Arthur said softly. "I deserve your scorn, your rejection, your saying that you do not forgive."

A sob threatned to choke Guinevere.

"My devotion to you wavered," tears pooled in Arthur's eyes as he spoke and he ran a hand over them. "I broke my promise to cherish, love, be faithful, and protect you—and I accept the punishment I am receiving now."

The sob she was holding back finally broke through Guinevere's lips as she looked at the man she loved more than herself. More than she thought she could ever love.

"You punish, Arthur," she spoke softly, her emotions making her voice tremble. "You punish like it's your right."

Her breath was starting to become labored, but Guinevere could not find it in herself to stop what she wanted to say.

"You have people fall in love with you; you let them build their dreams around you, but at the moment they stumble—the moment they stop being perfect—you cast them out and you punish them."

She saw Arthur close his eyes, but she still had so much to say.

"But you...you can make as many mistakes as you want and expect to be forgiven," tears were now falling from Guinevere's eyes. "You told me I was not worthy of you, of being your wife, several times."

She paused to take hold of her emotions.

"You remember war, battlefields, of hearing the cries of your men. Let me tell you what I remember: I remember being taken by force, I remember being beaten and tortured, I remember being raped, I remember losing my children, I remember being burned alive."

Her hands had curled into fists and her they bled where her nails dug into her palms.

"You may accuse me of being unfair, but where is my redemption, Arthur? How do I reclaim myself? What can you do to make all of my memories go away?"

She shook her head.

"I can't risk myself anymore."

Guinevere took a gasping breath.

"I love you, Arthur. I always will, in this lifetime and the next, but I will not be with a man who will declare love one moment and then rescind it the next."

Guinevere then spoke the words that broke her heart.

"I want a life free from memories of you, Arthur," she said softly. "You have never protected me so I will protect myself. I will save myself and...and you will see that I will not need you."

She looked into the eyes of the man who will always hold her heart. And Guinevere bowed her head, wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and wept.


	31. Chapter 31

**-31-**

Arthur rushed to the woman who had captured his heart in every lifetime. The woman whom he now understood was the greatest of all his treasures. He realized that he may have only have this one chance left, this one moment of sanity before whatever was to happen arrived, and he was not going to waste it begging for time.

If he had only this one final moment with Guinevere, he would spend it professing his love. Their minds may not remember it, but he knew their souls would be a different matter altogether.

He stood in front of her, tall and strong, hoping to echo the hero he had been once. When he had been brave enough to fight for her love. He gently took both of her hands in his, marveling at how perfect they were—they had always been—in his. He turned them so that her palms were exposed and gently, so very gently, he placed a kiss on each.

"I love you, Guinevere," he said, looking into her eyes. "This may be the only chance I ever get to say it as myself, so I beg you to give me this indulgence."

He moved her hands to his chest, right above his heart.

"This will always be yours," tears were beginning to pool in his eyes once again, but he found himself not caring.

"But more than my heart, my soul is forever yours to command. My heart and my soul, Guinevere, will always belong to you."

Tears continued to fall from Guinevere's eyes.

"I deserve neither your love nor your forgiveness, and I cannot pay ransom to redeem myself from the past, but please know that I forfeit everything that I am to free you from yours."

Arthur took a deep breath to steady his trembling voice.

"Ask me to breathe for you, and I will do so gladly," Arthur moved her small hands from his chest and raised them to his lips.

"My soul will never forget you."

He heard the soft sob escape Guinevere and something broke inside him. But he had to let her know; this was not the time to turn back.

"I love you, my Queen. Please remember me."

Guinevere took her hands from his as she gently put them on his cheeks.

"My King..." and a tear fell on her cheek.

Arthur gathered her into his arms and gently placed his lips on hers. The first kiss they shared in this lifetime and he was immediately taken to the past. He saw flashes of remembrance—their first kiss shared in her modest home, just after she gave him her favor.

Guinevere whimpered against him and he reluctantly stepped back. He didn't want to push, even if he wanted this moment to go on forever. She lay her forehead on his chest, her breathing ragged. Arthur slowly gathered her close, holding her until her body was flush with his. One arm around her waist, the other just below the nape of her neck. He pressed small kisses on the top of her head, alternating them with words of love.

"I love you," he said as he pressed a kiss on her temple.

"I love you," a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you," he gently tilted he head up and gazed into her eyes. Her beautiful eyes that spoke of her pain and loss. He longed to make her smile again, to make her look at him with love, but all he saw was her agony, and Arthur wanted to flay at himself if only to ease her of the misery of the ages.

She surprised him by gently laying her lips on his. Her soft kiss slowly deepening as he wrapped his arms around her waist. In turn, she wrapped hers around his neck, and when her tongue gently sought entrance to his mouth, Arthur slanted his lips against hers and granted her purchase.

The need for air was the only reason why Arthur broke the kiss, but even then, he was unable to help his hands from roving her back, holding her closer to him. He could not suppress lust from slowly spreading though his veins, the reaction of his body from feeling her pressed close to him.

"Guinevere," he whispered. He wasn't sure what she wanted, but he was certain that he was not going to push. Not now and never again.

"Just give me this moment, Arthur," Guinevere whispered back. Her breath was warm against his lips. "Please."

Arthur gave a low growl and claimed her lips again.

Slowly, and with infinite gentleness, he took her lead and followed her into her bedroom. Along the way, their clothes were shed and as she stood naked in front of him, Arthur looked at Guinevere and felt nothing but awe and love. She was beautiful, perfect, and he loved her in ways he, now, was still unable to express.

"Arthur," she whispered as she stepped closer to him and ghosted kisses on his chest.

"Guinevere," he said as he carried her into his arms to lay her gently on her bed.

Whispers and sighs gave way to moans of pleasure as they began the dance. His hands moved over her, his fingers worshipping every curve and the silken texture of her skin. In turn, her fingers moved over him, touching him with just as much reverence.

"Are you sure?" He asked. He wanted her to be certain; he wanted her to have no regrets. If this was the last time—the only time—they could be together in this age, he wanted her to have no misgivings.

He wanted her to be happy—even if it meant that it was not to be with him.

Guinevere nodded and Arthur's heart soared.

He moved over her, kissing her skin, touching the secret places he once knew gave her the most pleasure. When she moaned her appreciation of his attentions, he grew bolder. His tongue traced the path paved by his hands and smiled as she writhed under him.

It didn't take long for their breathing to become heavy, but there was one more thing to take care of before they reached completion.

"Guinevere?" His eyes held hers as that one word posed the question. Arthur didn't know what would happen tomorrow, and the last thing he wanted was for Guinevere to be with child and for him to not be with her.

Her hand came up to cup his cheek and Arthur was unable to stop himself from turning into her palm and kissing it.

"It's all right, Arthur," she whispered. "I'm safe."

He nodded and positioned himself over her. She spread her legs wider, drawing her knees up and planting her feet on the mattress, ready to receive him.

He lowered himself slowly, sinking into her warmth with a groan of pleasure. Arthur wanted this to last forever, willing himself to remember her perfection, hoping that time would be kind and allow him that in the very least.

But he was soon fully sheathed inside her, and Arthur gritted his teeth, fighting for control. He looked at the woman beneath him—his wife, once upon a time, his Queen, the love of his life—and sighed in contentment.

If they only had this one time, he was determined to make it perfect.

Guinevere moved her hips and the dance began. She urged him to move faster, thrust deeper, and he followed her command. All the while his lips feathered kisses all over her shoulders and neck and her fingers danced over his skin, heightening his pleasure, drawing moans from his lips.

He felt the familiar tension in Guinevere as she was about to reach her peak. Her legs closed about his hips, drawing him closer to her, Arthur groaned in pleasure and moved faster.

"Arthur," she closed her eyes and whispered his name over and over as she drew closer to climax.

He was so close, so very close, but he wanted her there with him. He slowly moved one hand between their bodies, between her legs, to flick at the nub of nerves that he knew would bring her over the edge. Her eyes flew open and he looked deeply into them.

"I love you, Guinevere," he said clearly, not wanting her to doubt his words. "And I will love you forever."

"Arthur," she whispered his name and she flung her head back as pleasure crashed over her.

Arthur came at the same time and he buried his face in the space between her shoulder and her neck.

They stayed that way for a moment, breathing labored, perspiration from their exertions cooling their skin. Arthur felt Guinevere kissing his shoulder and he turned his head to look at her. Her skin was rosy and warm, her hair wild, her eyes soft, her lips swollen from their kisses.

Arthur swore he had never seen her more beautiful and he had never loved her more.

He moved off and out of her, lying on the bed beside her and holding her close; her head on his chest as they rode out the humming of their bodies. Her hand traced idle patterns on his chest and Arthur's hands stroked her skin lightly, knowing that she will be unable to take any more stimulation.

_'This is enough,'_ he thought. _'My spirit has this to remember her by.'_

"Arthur," Guinevere called him from his reverie.

"My love," he answered. "What's wrong?"

"I will remember you," she said softly.

He pressed a kiss upon the top of her head.

"Forgive me?" She asked.

"You do not have to ask me for anything, Guinevere." He was shocked at her request. He had never blamed her for anything; he had disappointed her, time and time again, and it was he who should be begging.

"Forgive whatever slight I caused, Arthur."

She moved closer to him and his arms tightened around her body.

"You have caused me no grief, my love," he whispered. "There is no slight for me to forgive."

Arthur held her close, content where he was.

_'This is where I should be,'_ he thought. _'With her, holding her, loving her.'_

"I love you, Arthur," Guinevere whispered again, her lips ghosting on his chest. "I cannot tell you how much."

He felt tears on his skin and he slowly tilted her chin up. He saw her grief, her pain, but he also saw the familiar warmth of her love and despite the uncertainty of tomorrow, Arthur's heart soared.

Sorrow and pain were lifting from her heart.

_'Let peace come to her, please,'_ he prayed silently. _'Give her relief.'_

"I love you," he said simply. "And I will love you forever."

He leaned down and kissed her, softly, gently.

A clock chimed somewhere and Arthur became aware of the time. He looked and saw that hours had passed; the shadows slanting across the room showed that it was early in the afternoon. He moved them until they were sitting up, leaning against her headboard. Still holding her against him, he began to speak.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asked.

Guinevere nodded.

He kissed her temple and slowly eased from bed.

"Where are you going?" Guinevere's bewildered tone called.

Arthur chuckled and turned back to her.

"I have to return to Camelot for a change of clothes," Arthur said. "I will be back, my love."

"Oh," she said, her lips forming a perfect o as she leaned back against the headboard. "I will be here waiting, then."

"Thank you, Guinevere," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and started to dress.

He felt the bed dip and her arms were soon around him, her lips kissing his shoulder, moving up to his ear.

"I love you, Arthur," she said again. Arthur had never heard anything more beautiful. He felt her mumble again his skin, words he couldn't hear.

"What was that, my love?"

She moved so she was sitting on his lap. She still held the sheet to herself, covering her nudity. Arthur held her close, not wanting to be away from her, but knowing that he had to set things right at home before coming back to spend these—maybe—last hours with her.

She was silent, her eyes big and shining with unshed tears.

"What's wrong, Guinevere?" His heart began to hammer in his chest. Had he hurt her yet again?

She cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly on the lips.

"I absolve you, Arthur," she whispered against them. "My peace will only be complete when you are at peace as well."

He held his breath and he was certain that he was about to black out.

"This will always be yours as well," she moved one of his hands over her heart. "My entire being, my King, will always be devoted to your happiness."

"Guinevere," he breathed and he felt tears pricking at his eyes. "You are my happiness."

She kissed him and slowly moved off his lap and moved back to the bed.

"Go, Arthur," she said silkily. "I will be here when you return."

She smiled at him and Arthur was unable to help himself from kissing her. She was breathless and he was panting when they separated.

"Come back to me, my King."

And Arthur's world went black.


	32. Chapter 32

**-32-**

Miles away, in a large stone mansion away from the city, three men sat around a large table. Each one was wrapped up in his thoughts, but when one of them raised his head to look at a candle that suddenly flickered to life, the other two took notice.

"Ah," Kilgarrah remarked, a smile spreading across his lips.

The faint scent of lavender permeated the room and disappeared just as quickly as it came.

The old man sighed with contentment and settled back into his chair.

"What happened?" Galahad asked, his eyes darting from dragon to wizard, bewilderment clear on his face.

"The spell is in place, young Knight," Kilgarrah said. "Your Queen is at peace."

Galahad dropped his head into his hands, sighed in relief, and then straightened.

"Then why do I still remember?"

"Patience, Galahad," the dragon's voice was soothing. "Things will take their course. I have not forgotten my promise to you."

Galahad was troubled and his fear ate at Kilgarrah's conscience.

"You want to hear the truth," a statement, not a question.

Galahad nodded and Kilgarrah smiled.

"The spell will take place," the older man clarified. "Your Queen will have no memory of her past; she will not remember Arthur, Merlin, or the witch."

He gave a quick nod to Merlin who gave one of his own.

"But how is this different from her punishment?" Galahad was confused. Could he have led his Lady to a trap?

"Remember what I told you, young Knight," Kilgarrah's voice bore a gentle reprimand. "They are two halves of a whole. As one suffers, so does the other."

He raised an eyebrow.

"But as one rejoices and finds peace, the other does as well," he explained softly. "The Queen will bear no guilt from her past, and her forgiveness ensures that Arthur will be free from his as well."

He smiled.

"They are free to find each other once more," a note of peace came into Kilgarrah's voice. "To love each other..."

"To complete each other," Merlin said softly and Galahad turned to look at the wizard. "The Queen's happiness is tied to her love for Arthur."

Merlin saw that his answer still wasn't enough to pacify the knight.

"I know you distrust Arthur and myself still," Merlin said. "And you are right to do so, but, Galahad, it is time to trust that, now, your Lady will know how to guard her heart as well."

Merlin's eyes moved to Kilgarrah before settling once again on Galahad.

"She may not remember her past now that the spell will take place, but that doesn't mean that the lessons she learned will not take root in her being," the wizard told the Knight.

"This mission was meant to free your Lady, Galahad," Kilgarrah spoke again. "And that meant unshackling her from the pain and burden of her past."

The knot in Galahad's chest eased. They were right. The past chained the Queen to her pain; being free of them meant that she would—at least—be able to live again.

To love again.

"We are not here to take advantage of Guinevere," Kilgarrah said softly, hoping to relieve the last traces of doubt from Galahad's mind. "This was not a game for me, Galahad. I wanted her to be liberated from her ties to the past. And only she could choose to be free."

And then it all came together.

The Queen was never given a choice when it came to her fate. She followed the edicts of her father, the demands of her station, the bidding of her king, the desires of her husband, and the cruelty of Camelot. Her life hung in the balance of every decision she made.

This time, in this age, she was given a choice—for the first time. Whether or not she forgave, she would be free of her past, but it was only when she made the right decision—for herself and the people she cared for—would she be happy. Only then would she be at peace.

Because it is not in her nature to be cruel.

Galahad's lips bowed into a smile. He understood now. His Lady would never be happy with exacting revenge. The Queen would never condemn anyone to pain and misery—because she knew how easily it could poison a person's spirit.

Hope was Guinevere's balm. And it was a gift she always gave freely.

He looked at Kilgarrah with eyes blurry with tears.

"I should never have doubted you," the Knight said.

"Nonsense," Kilgarrah brushed aside Galahad's words. "You swore to protect her, and you did that admirably."

He smiled at the young man.

"I am proud of you, Galahad. And your Queen thanks you."

He looked to Merlin and saw that the wizard's eyes were swimming in tears as well.

"You led us, Galahad," Merlin told the knight. "You convinced Arthur to come to Kilgarrah, you comforted the Queen enough to let her see that you were still her champion—your devotion to your Lady saved Camelot."

Galahad bowed his head.

"You secured Albion for all of us."

Galahad looked up at the wizard and shook his head.

"I saved my Lady," he declared. "Camelot by chance."

An unspoken truce settled between the Knight and the Wizard. They had both done well.

"And now it is time for you to go back home, young knight," Kilgarrah stood up and placed a hand on Galahad's shoulder. "But do not fear, you will see your Queen again—although, I'm afraid you will have no memory of her as well."

Galahad nodded. In truth, he rather welcomed the thought.

"It would mean a far less complicated life," he admitted with a rueful smile.

A laugh burst from Merlin's lips and Kilgarrah chuckled as well.

But Galahad posed another query.

"What of Merlin, Elyan, and the witch?"

Kilgarrah smiled indulgently.

"I suppose you deserve answers," he told the Knight. "Very well...Merlin will remember and he will stand guard over the Once and Future King and Queen. His hand played too heavily in their fates for me to exempt him from his due."

Merlin nodded. He looked no more burdened by his lot, in fact, he seemed rather pleased by it.

"Morgana," the dragon's lip curled slightly at her name. "A shadow hangs over her still. I cannot completely see light in her soul, but I am offering her a chance at redemption—without her power and her memories, but with Elyan. He is a protector and she needs a rock. They alone will decide how intertwined their futures will be."

Galahad was pleased by this. Fate had been cruel to Morgana as well, but the Queen never lost hope with her former mistress, perhaps it was time that the rest of them had faith in her as well.

"There you have it, Galahad," Kilgarrah said. "Are you satisfied?"

The Knight nodded.

"Rest now, Galahad. Remember that you still have your examinations to complete."

Galahad chuckled as darkness washed over him.


	33. Chapter 33

**-33-**

Guinevere woke with a start and immediately looked at the alarm clock that was blaring with an awful racket.

Grumbling, she sat up and planted her palm on top of the offending machine, immediately silencing the loud buzzing.

"Brilliant, Gwen," she reprimanded herself. "Only you would forget to turn off the alarm on a Sunday."

She stood and stretched, wincing at a dull soreness in her thighs. They felt like she had run a marathon without warming up.

"How is that even possible?" She wondered out loud. "Ugh, must've slept in an odd position again."

She got up and padded to the bathroom, pausing in front of a full length mirror on the way. She looked at herself, noting the way that her hair resembled like a cloud around her head. She sighed, knowing that there really wasn't anything she could do to tame it. She really wasn't a vain person, but she thought that a day where she didn't have to torture her locks into submission wasn't such a big favor to ask of the universe.

Guinevere hummed a little tune as she puttered around her apartment. Today was a Sunday, her one day to be selfish and hoard a little me-time. But today was a special day as she would spend it with her brother and "a special guest."

Guinevere chuckled a little. Elyan had become so secretive about his personal life lately that there was no doubt in her mind that a woman was involved. She would have been intrigued if not for the fact that she was more relieved than anything else.

Elyan still refused to talk to her about what happened after he left military service, but that he is encouraging a romantic life is heartening to Guinevere

_'Maybe she can draw him out,'_ she mused as she went about preparing for the day.

Soon, she is out the door and making her way to the coffee shop she has become a regular patron of. She can't even remember how she found the place, but it was cozy and served amazing brews so she wasn't going to question her luck.

The weather was still warm and Guinevere is starting to long for the bite of autumn. She'd always liked colder weather; she liked being bundled in scarves and boots and her fascination with cold-weather attire has led her to seek out capes and cloaks.

"A red one," she told Elyan the other day when he asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she had replied that she wanted a floor-length cape. He had just sighed and shook his head.

She walked the few blocks to the coffee shop, her hair blowing in the wind and her mind traveling back to the lovely dream she had the night before. She remembered a sun-dappled clearing in the middle of a forest, a small stream, and the flowers that carpeted the ground. She had woken up before the dream could progress, but it was a nice thing to recall.

Guinevere entered the coffee shop and breathed in the familiar comforting aroma of roasting beans and baked goods. She was a fairly good baker herself and her coffee was nothing to sneer at, so she appreciated places that paid as much attention to their wares as she did.

Elyan was had yet to make an appearance so she ordered her usual brew and sat down at the table she always occupied. She had a lot of time to herself these days, her dad had sold their old house—something that had pained her in the beginning, but she couldn't begrudge her father the chance to travel. Already, she has received postcard and several letters from Avignon, a place that knows holds a sentimental place in her father's heart as it was where he met her mother.

She took a sip from her cup and saw that she was being observed by a young man who occupied a table directly across hers. She held back a smile. She had noticed this particular young man before, always just a little harried and with a mess of books, paper, and pens in front of him. A University student, she guessed.

Guinevere gave him a little salute with her cup and smiled wider when he blushed. A little too young for her taste, but she knew that he had his own share of admirers—if the young lady manning the till of the shop was anything to go by, at least.

She sat there for a while and waited. It felt nice to have this bit of time by herself, she just wished Elyan would hurry up and arrive already.


	34. Chapter 34

**-34-**

Arthur made his way down the street to the little coffee shop that one of his staff members recommended. He had shared an elevator with Merlin Emrys the other day and he had commented on the delicious-smelling brew that he held in one hand. He had been given the name of a coffee shop and that's how how found himself here. At 8:30 in the morning on a Sunday.

He was not a morning person during the weekend. If anything, he was difficult and grumpy and wanted nothing else but to be left alone. But he kept remembering the smell of coffee and decided that he would go and get himself a cup and then go spend the rest of Sunday lazing around Camelot.

He sighed. He wasn't actually looking forward to going back to that cave of a house, but as all his friends were either with their families or significant others, he was left all alone.

_'Poor little rich boy,'_ Merlin had actually taunted him. Arthur had laughed because he knew what it implied.

He found the coffee shop and was immediately greeted by the same fragrant smell that had him so intrigued in the elevator. He was pleased to see that there were only a handful of customers in the shop; it meant he could take his time in selecting the perfect cup. As with everything he found pleasure in, Arthur was fastidious with his coffee, and if this shop came up to his standards, they could expect his patronage for a very long time.

He made his way to the counter when a slight movement from one of the tables caught his eye. Arthur turned and immediately felt his heart drop to his knees.

She was wearing a soft lavender blouse, its pastel hue enhancing the copper perfection of her skin. Her hair was dark, thick, and curly, and from what he could observe, coming to just above her waist. Her fingers were long and delicate, cradling a rather oversized cup from which she was currently taking a sip.

Arthur groaned when her lips touched the rim of the cup. Her lips were full and lush, and when she pursed them to blow slightly at the steaming brew, he had to close his eyes to block out the thoughts that were worming their way in his mind.

He stood there, frozen, staring at the vision in front of him. Arthur didn't know long he gawped at her, but he was only shaken out of his stupor when he heard her laugh. Somewhere, at some point in his life, he had read a laugh being described as "magical." He had dismissed that and thought it rather silly.

Until this moment.

This woman was magical.

"Mr. Pendragon," a familiar voice called his name and he turned to see who had said it.

"Over here!" The voice called out again and Arthur saw Morgana Le Fay, one of his company's lawyers, calling him over. To the table where the beautiful woman sat.

"Ms. Le Fay," he greeted her as soon as he reached their table. His eyes, however, were fixed on the other woman and it seemed like she could not take her eyes off him as well. It should have unnerved Arthur, but instead he was happy. Her gaze—her soft, curious, beautiful eyes—were on him and somehow, he couldn't explain why, his heart was soaring.

"Mr. Pendragon..."

"Arthur," he corrected her. "Out of the office, it's just Arthur."

"Arthur," Morgana began again and turned to the man beside her. "This is Elyan...my boyfriend."

Arthur noted the pause and the blush and realized that their relationship was new.

"And this is Guinevere," Morgana indicated to the other woman who extended her hand.

"Gwen," she corrected gently. "Most people just call me Gwen."

Arthur grasped her hand and the contact was more than electric. He felt warmth travel from his fingertips, up his arm, and spread through his chest. He saw her lips part in a gasp and knew that she felt it too. She pulled her hand from his and put it on her lap, her gaze, though, never left Arthur's face.

Elyan chuckled and that got Arthur's attention.

"Guinevere, Arthur," he smiled and sipped his coffee. "Reminds me of a story I read once. Interesting, really, you should read it, Gwen."

"Maybe some other time," Guinevere replied, her eyes still on Arthur.

Arthur looked at the woman before him. His gaze took in her creamy skin, the delicate arch of her brows, her full, generous lips and knew, immediately, that he would give her forever.

He was vaguely aware that Elyan and Morgana made their excuses and left. He didn't care, really. He was here, sharing this moment with a woman he was determined to get to know better.

They sat there, quiet, until Guinevere (despite her protest, he loved the way her name sounded in his head) broke eye contact and looked down.

"I apologize Mr. Pendr..."

"Arthur," he cut through. "Please, call me Arthur.'

"Arthur," she said and a shiver went down his spine. "I apologize, I've been staring."

"I've been doing the same thing," he confessed and was pleased at her blush.

"I feel like...like I should know you," Guinevere said. "It's completely illogical, but I feel like you're familiar, somehow."

A frown marred her brow.

"I feel the same way," Arthur confessed. "And that handshake."

He shook his head before continuing.

"When I touched your hand, that felt..."

"Magical." Arthur completed the sentence and saw her eyes fly wide.

"Yes," she said.

Arthur rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. He had known this woman for minutes, what he was feeling was not logical.

"Is...anything wrong?" Guinevere's soft voice broke through Arthur's thoughts. "You look stressed."

_'Stressed,'_ he thought. _'I've decided that I was going to marry you on sight, I'm stressed all right.'_

"Will you go out with me tonight?" He blurted out and then fell silent as he realized that his question was rather abrupt.

"No," she said and Arthur's face fell.

But she smiled and looked at him. Those beautiful brown eyes seemingly seeing into his soul.

"Let's get through coffee first, then ask me again," Guinevere said with a smile.

"I'd like that," Arthur said softly.

_'Whatever it takes,'_ a tiny voice in Arthur's mind said. _'Whatever it takes, Arthur, make yourself worthy of this woman.'_

A small smile bowed his lips.

He knew he would risk all for her love.

From a shadowed part of the coffee shop, a distinguished-looking older gentleman smiled at the couple whose eyes were speaking volumes.

"Tread carefully, young Pendragon," he said softly. "She will guard her heart from now on."

Then he regarded the young woman who sat with the comportment of royalty.

"My Queen," Kilgarrah said. "He will not fail you this time."

-End-

**_AN: _**_Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and added this to their alert list. Until the next story. – BNQ_


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